


La petite mort

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Awkward Conversations, BFFs, Bad Childhood information, Bathing/Washing, Best Friends, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Boys Kissing, Embarrassed John, Failed Masturbation, First Oral, First Orgasm, Fluff, Hand Massage, Humour, Intense, Intense Orgasm, Intercrural Sex, John is adorable, John likes the cock, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Male Friendship, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Mycroft gets involved, Pet Names, Premature Ejaculation, Public Masturbation, Rimming, Sally is a bitch, Sherlock Is a Virgin, Sherlock is a rubbish doctor, Sherlock is adorable when high on painkillers, Sherlock is so innocent, Sherlock's Childhood, Sherlocks inner thoughts, Sickfic, Sleepy Cuddles, Sweetness, Teaching, Texting, Watching films, Writer has a serious Virgin kink, but only for a little bit, helping hand, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3747907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is ill which forces Sherlock to care for him. Things happen.</p><p>I posted this story before but it has since been beta'd. Nothing in the story has changed but it is now properly English instead of gobbledygook.</p><p>This work has been here AGGGGGES but it was unbeta'd. My beautiful, wonderful, amazing beta SherlockHolmesConsultingVampire offered to go through my stories and make them better so yes... thank her for this. </p><p>Please comment!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John had never felt so sick; his stomach clenched with cramps and his whole body shuddered with painful shivers from the cold which seemed to rush through his bones. He attempted to lift his head but the pain rushing through his neck made him whimper and collapse back onto the pillow. 

The doctor cursed himself for missing the opportunity to have his flu jab at the surgery; he had insisted he was too busy and he had never suffered with flu previously so didn't believe he needed it. That was until he was run down from rushing around London on a case with Sherlock whilst missing meals and sleep; he had collapsed into bed on Friday evening and slept through until Sunday morning when he had awoken in agony.

Moving his arm slowly, he gripped his mobile and sent Sherlock a text as he felt unable to speak. Pressing send and dropping the phone onto the mattress, he sighed deeply; he really wasn’t well.

Sherlock entered the bedroom immediately, his eyes scanning John’s body before he walked closer to the ill doctor lying on the bed.

"Why are you ill?" Sherlock asked with a confused look. "You're never ill."

"Think it's flu. Didn’t get my flu jab," John croaked before beginning a prolonged coughing fit which had him gagging painfully.

"Are you going to vomit? Should I get a bucket?" Sherlock asked timidly.

"Probably," John groaned. "Can you grab my medical bag please?"

Sherlock left the room and quickly returned with John's medical bag, a plastic bucket and a glass of ice water. The detective looked nervously at John before placing the bucket beside the bed and handing the water to John along with the bag.

John rummaged inside and pulled out some codeine painkillers; taking them quickly he lay back on the pillow as another coughing fit started. Sherlock startled and stared at John nervously.

"Sherlock. I'm not dying. Stop worrying," John attempted to smile.

"You're never ill," Sherlock whispered. "And I'm a dreadful doctor."

John smiled at Sherlock and patted his hand. "I'll get some sleep and be better."

"Should I do anything? Cold compress? Warm water? Towels?”

"Sherlock, I have flu, I'm not giving birth," John groaned, realising that asking Sherlock for help may have been a mistake.

"I'll phone somebody? What about Mrs Hudson? Or Sarah! I'll call her." Sherlock insisted, standing up to grab for John's phone.

"No…Sherlock, just sit down," John croaked. "Just sit with me."

Sherlock sat beside John awkwardly, seeming to want to keep as much space between them as possible incase they happened to touch. John began to doze when he felt Sherlock stroking his hair softly.

"Wut yew duwen?" John asked with his face buried in the pillow.

"Cataloguing," Sherlock answered truthfully. "I've never had a chance to look at the colours in your hair or the texture. I figured since you were at death’s door you would allow it."

John sighed half-heartedly, expecting the panic of such an intimate touch to ignite around his veins but finding only comfort. He relaxed back into the pillow and slept as Sherlock stroked through his strands.

Sherlock technically wasn't lying about cataloguing. He had never had the chance to be so close to his blogger before and his fingers had automatically buried themselves into the knotted hair before Sherlock had become aware. He had made up an excuse and then began looking over John carefully; his hair was darker now he was out of the desert sun, slightly greying from the stress of London -and living with Sherlock, probably- but it was still more blond than grey. Not like Lestrade.

The hair was soft, twirling around Sherlock's long fingers easily as he played and wound the strands around his digits. He could smell the sweet aroma of John's shampoo and his sweat lingering in the air which made a part of his body react stronger than he had expected. He willed away his erection as much as possible before realising that John was asleep; climbing carefully from John's bed, he rushed to his own bedroom and took himself in hand. He stroked himself quickly and effectively until he felt the first tingles of his orgasm build. He stopped himself immediately and sat on his hands to stop himself going further as his cock bobbed angrily against his stomach.

Sherlock closed his eyes and recited the periodic table until he felt able to continue his daily business. Pulling up his trousers, he checked his reflection and left to sit in the living room and continue updating his blog posts.

* * *

 

"Sher-" John began before coughs wracked his body painfully, causing him to double over in the bed and reach for the plastic bucket which Sherlock had thankfully placed there earlier. Heaving heavily into the tub, John groaned and attempted to take a deep breath.

"Lovely," Sherlock mumbled, his nose curled up playfully. "Well, there's another of your bodily fluids ticked off."

John grimaced and allowed Sherlock to help him lay back down. "Ticked off what?"

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You said ‘there's another of your bodily fluids ticked off’," John insisted as he closed his eyes and covered them with his arm. "Are you collecting them?"

Sherlock was thankful John had covered his eyes as the crimson blush spread over the detective’s cheeks and throat.  _ Stupid brain wouldn't do what it was told! _

"Must have been mistaken," Sherlock insisted. "Would you like to take a shower? You're pretty rancid."

"I don't think I can stand," John whined, "but I need to pee."

Sherlock grimaced again and attempted to help John onto his feet, stopping occasionally to let John take a breath before Sherlock helped him into the bathroom.

"You don't… want me to hold anything, do you?" Sherlock cringed.

"Can you just help me undo my trousers?" John asked, looking down at the drawstring jogging bottoms he was wearing.

"Oh, of course," Sherlock smiled, his fingers working quickly at the knot before moving to allow John privacy. "You should sit down. Don’t want to pick you up off the floor with your… member out."

"It's a cock, Sherlock. A penis, a cock, a dick or prick, not a member," John sighed, rolling his eyes. "We both have one."

Sherlock collected the plastic bucket from the bedroom and waited for John to flush before he entered the bathroom once more, pouring the vomit down the toilet and using the taps to rinse it out before helping John back into his bedroom.

"Sleep some more," Sherlock soothed, checking John's temperature. "I'll make you something to eat later when you're up to it."

John nodded, taking more tablets and settling back into bed. "Fanks, Sh’lock."

"No problem," Sherlock smiled and left the room.

* * *

 

John awoke to the delicious smell of soup being heated. He felt less nauseous than before but his stomach ached from the heaving and hunger. He looked up with a smile as Sherlock carried a tray with a bowl of soup and a loaf of bread.

"Feel up to eating?" Sherlock asked nervously as he lingered in the doorway.

"God yes," John replied with a smile, sitting up with a slight wobble.

"Okay, okay, let me help before you become even more invalided." Sherlock fussed with his free hand, attempting to press John further into the pillows as he sat against the headboard. "Can you feed yourself or should I help? I vaguely remember ‘here comes the aeroplane’."

John laughed and rolled his eyes. "I can  _ probably _ manage," he chuckled before taking the offered tray and taking a deep sniff of the tomato soup.

He ate in silence whilst Sherlock talked about his day, what had happened on the chat show he liked ( _ well, he liked to shout at the idiot host)  _ and the new cases which had come in from the blog.

"Mainly, I've just been listening to you breathing," Sherlock admitted, frowning slightly at the look of shock on John's face. "I didn't want you to die… obviously."

"You're being weird. Stop being weird," John groaned. "Stop cataloguing me, or collecting my fluids or watching me sleep… just… relax."

Sherlock fiddled with his fingers nervously and nodded, taking the bowl from John and carrying it back to the kitchen. John sighed at his impatience towards his best friend; he was only trying to help after all. It wasn’t his fault he was being so… _ Sherlock _ about it.

"Sherlock?" John called into the living room, watching the detective round the corner at an alarming rate.

"What is it, John? Are you going to vomit again?" Sherlock asked as he rushed back to John's bedside.

"No. Nothing like that. Would you like to watch a film together?" John suggested. "Nothing too challenging."

Sherlock looked over his friend and bit his lip nervously before nodding. John smiled and suggested that Sherlock change into his pyjamas and return to John's room when he was comfortable, asking Sherlock to grab his large black case which was settled under the table in the living room.

The bag was filled with DVDs; a huge selection of different genres, ratings and actors filled the plastic dividers which John had spent years accumulating. He flicked through the pages of shiny disks before giving up and deferring to Sherlock's choice.

"I've never seen this one," Sherlock smiled, holding up a disk and looking at the colourful image on the picture.

"You do know it's a kid's film, yeah?" John asked.

"How?! How did they make the story of Hercules into a children's film?" Sherlock replied, shocked.

"Okay, okay, let's watch that," John smiled, allowing Sherlock to press the DVD into the TV at the bottom of his bed before cuddling further into his sheets.

* * *

 

"Why is Hades so camp?!" Sherlock shouted at the TV screen, his hands gesturing wildly.

John had given up watching the film ten minutes in as Sherlock ranted at the cartoon. The doctor simply contented himself with listening to Sherlock pick out the inaccuracies.

"They couldn't exactly tell children that Hercules murdered his children in a frenzy," John laughed. "Imagine the complaints."

"My parents did," Sherlock frowned. "I’d read The Odyssey before I was ten."

"Yeah, but normal parents," John smiled, watching Sherlock's face fall before adding, "Those without genius children."

Sherlock brightened and smiled at John, snuggling closer to his best friend and sitting silently whilst watching the film.

* * *

 

"Okay, we need to get you in the bath," Sherlock groaned. "Shall I run it?"

John nodded and grimaced at the thought of Sherlock helping him bathe. His cock had reacted far too easily at the close proximity of the detective in his bed and he knew that the pillow would smell delightfully like Sherlock's shampoo and aftershave. John rearranged his half hard erection in his pyjama bottoms and listened to Sherlock humming absently as he ran the water.

"Bubbles?" Sherlock called from the bathroom.

"Please," John smiled; he hadn't had a bubble bath in ages ( _ plus they might protect his modesty). _

"What did your last slave die of?" Sherlock grumbled jokingly from the bathroom.

"Disobedience. I had to spank him to death," John laughed before blushing at the sexual connotations, hoping that Sherlock hadn’t heard or realised.

Sherlock returned to the bedroom and helped John stand, walking with him carefully into the steamy bathroom.

"Do… should I help you undress?" Sherlock blushed nervously.

"Just my top," John asked, his arms still feeling heavy and unwieldy. "I can do my bottoms."

Sherlock nodded and helped John strip his shirt before turning his back so John could undress. When John was naked, he cleared his throat and Sherlock turned back around. His eyes focussed on a point between two tiles which lined the bathroom wall as he helped John climb into the bathtub and lower himself into the warm water with a blissful sigh.

"Thanks, Sherlock," John smiled. "You've been amazing these last few days."

Sherlock blushed and hummed a noise which could have been a thank you, before rushing out of the bathroom on the pretext of getting a towel.

* * *

 

When Sherlock returned, John had managed to control his urges by thinking of a naked Mycroft on a pogo stick. The urge to cackle and laugh hysterically was almost too much to bear, but John bit his lip and relaxed into the warmth of the bath, his head resting against the cold plastic of the tub.

"John," Sherlock started, sitting on the floor with his back against the opposite wall and watching John intently.

"Sherlock," John sighed. "What?"

"How often do you masturbate?" Sherlock asked calmly, his voice never wavering.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" John spat. "You don"t ask people that!"

Sherlock looked confused, his eyebrows knitting together as he attempted to understand why it was such an offensive question. "I know you masturbate… it's a normal bodily function for most men so why are you embarrassed about it?"

"I know it's normal," John laughed, "but it doesn't mean I want to talk about my… habits."

Sherlock shrugged and dropped the conversation, his mind reminding him to check on his latest experiment hidden behind the washing machine.

"Why do you want to know?" John asked quietly, peeking his head over at Sherlock.

"Know what?" Sherlock replied.

"About the… what you asked!" John sighed with impatience.

"Oh. I just wondered if my calculations were correct. it's not important."

John grimaced and shook his head. "Okay, I'll bite. What calculations?"

"How often you masturbate and for how long." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's not that difficult."

"Why on earth do you need to know that?" John replied tensely, a prickle of sweat beginning on his brow.

Sherlock blushed slightly and looked away; his traitorous mind was running too slowly to think of a decent lie and he didn't want to admit the truth but he couldn't think of a good enough excuse… his mind began to panic, his heartbeat getting faster as he retreated deeper and deeper into himself.

"Sherlock?" John asked cautiously.

"I think I'm abnormal," Sherlock spat before covering his lips with his hands and closing his eyes tightly.

"Ooooo-kay," John whispered; that wasn't the reply he’d expected. "In what way?"

"Doesn’t- Doesn’t matter," Sherlock mumbled, standing up and marching out of the bathroom. "Shout me if you need help."

"What in the fuck?" John shook his head.

* * *

 

Sherlock had helped John climb from the bathtub, a towel extended to cover John's crotch as he helped the older man shakily exit the water. The pair walked slowly back into the bedroom until they reached John's bed, which had been thoughtfully redressed with fresh bedding. 

The doctor sat on the mattress with a sigh as weariness spread through his body once more. Sherlock grabbed a fresh pair of pyjama pants and helped the older man push his legs through before helping him to stand, ensuring he was still wrapped in the towel to cover his modesty.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he climbed under the covers and settled against his pillow, weariness seeping into every pore of his body.

"John, it's fine. Just… go to sleep," Sherlock whispered.

"Stay with me?" John asked nervously.

Sherlock stopped at the door and lingered for a moment before turning around and lying beside John on the bed, reaching over to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. The men laid silently beside one another in the dark before John tried again.

"Sherlock?"

"Oh my goodness, just go to sleep already," Sherlock sighed. "It’s fine. Just forget it."

"Why do you think you're abnormal? Answer me and I'll sleep," John responded quietly.

Sherlock was thankful for the darkness which cloaked his features as his mind whirred; he had never discussed sex or masturbation with John or anybody else -not since Mycroft gave him the talk at age eleven- leaving him at a loss for words.

"I…Well… it's..." he started before exhaling shakily. "Recently, I have found my sexual appetite has increased dramatically."

John turned into his doctor persona and listened carefully as Sherlock spoke. "How dramatic is dramatically?"

"Daily," Sherlock blushed. "Sometimes a few times a day."

John frowned. "That's not that dramatic, a lot of men find themselves aroused on a daily basis. So long as you're not becoming addicted you're pretty much like most normal blokes."

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together as he spoke, "But how do they get anything done?"

John smiled and shrugged. "Most men don’t have three hundred experiments happening at the same time."

"So… masturbating daily isn’t a bad thing?" Sherlock whispered.

"Not at all," John soothed.

"I stop before I finish, of course," Sherlock nodded knowingly.

"I'm sorry, what?" John gasped. "You… stop? Why?"

"I don't want to waste my semen, John," Sherlock chuckled as though John was mad.

"Whoa, right," John rubbed his temple, "slow down. Are you telling me that at thirty-seven you've never ejaculated?"

"Obviously I have accidentally, in my sleep," Sherlock blushed. "But I assumed that was excess that my body wanted to remove."

"Jesus Christ," John gaped. "You've officially continued the longest edging session in the history of man."

"I don't understand," Sherlock frowned. "Are you suggesting that it's fine to ejaculate?"

"Yes. Very fine. Healthier than storing it," John nodded. "Who told you this information?"

"My father," Sherlock frowned. "He said that if you masturbate, you'll use up all of your sperm."

"He’s wrong," John insisted firmly. "Very wrong."

"I won't use it all?" Sherlock asked nervously. "Or go blind?"

John desperately held back his giggles as he looked over at the thirty odd year old man asking the questions he was normally asked by teens.

"No. They replenish regularly and have absolutely no influence on your eyesight whatsoever. You also won’t get hairy palms or have it fall off."

Sherlock nodded but still looked pensive as he stared into the darkness.

"I wank daily," John admitted with a blush. "It hasn't done me any harm."

"And you ejaculate?" Sherlock asked quizzically, his mind already spinning with new knowledge.

"Y-Yes," John nodded. "That's where the pleasure comes from. Are you telling me you've never experienced orgasm?"

"The tingles?" Sherlock asked quietly. "There's a strange tightening in my stomach followed by a fizzy sensation from my testicles up my spine. That's normally where I stop."

"Jesus Christ, you've never even orgasmed," John grumbled as he shook his head. "You're in for a huge surprise, my friend."

"Thank you," Sherlock whispered, attempting to end the uncomfortable conversation before cuddling further down the bed.

The silence swallowed the room until John broke, his curiosity piqued. "How often did you do it before?"

"I didn't," Sherlock shrugged. "Normally my body takes care of it."

"You know that's not healthy, yeah?" John asked. "Was it just lack of drive or did you have negativity about touching yourself?"

Sherlock blushed crimson. "I just…didn't."

"Never?" John asked incredulously.

"Well, I think I must have done as a teenager… I have a vague memory of being told about sex and reproduction by Mycroft," Sherlock shrugged, "and then my father told me that I’d use it up if I masturbated so I guess I didn't after that."

John desperately wanted to invent a time machine to return to the conversation between Mycroft and Sherlock. He would have killed for the opportunity to be a fly on the wall during the discussion of sex and relationships between the two sentimentally challenged Holmes brothers.

"So, if you haven't done it since your teenage years, what’s changed recently to inflame your passion?" John asked, attempting not to blush or cringe at his wording.

"I have no idea," Sherlock admitted.

"Well, do you know what triggers your arousal?" John continued, probing carefully.

"You, normally," Sherlock shrugged.

"Right okay—wait… hold on, what?" John stammered. "Me?"

"Yes, you." Sherlock rolled his eyes as though John was an idiot. "It normally happens when we're in close proximity. Yesterday for example after you fell asleep with me cataloguing your hair colours, I had to go and deal with my aching erection."

John gulped audibly and looked up at the ceiling in silent prayer. This wasn't a normal conversation between flatmates or even best friends; but when did anything to do with Sherlock include normal?

"I-I think we should go to sleep," John whispered cautiously. "I feel a bit… weak."

"Very well," Sherlock nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, Sherlock," John murmured as he felt Sherlock stand from the bed and stride from the mattress to the doorway. Closing it behind him, he left John alone and unsurprisingly hard.

John knew he probably shouldn't do anything about his erection; he was still ill and lethargic but the urge to stroke himself was almost drowning out all other thoughts in his mind as he flipped onto his stomach. He reached for the pillow which Sherlock had lay on and put it under his head whilst putting a second under his hips against his swollen and sensitive erection; he gasped as the tip of his cock pressed against the soft feather pillow, and circled his hips to draw out the pleasure and growing tension in his abdomen. He buried his face into the pillow and smelt Sherlock's own scent; a mix of shampoo, aftershave and Sherlock's own body made John's cock twitch and bob against the cushion below.

John bit his lip and stifled his moan as best he could as he thrust wildly and uncoordinated whilst still in his pyjamas; he could feel the small pool of precum spreading over the fabric and groaned as the slick material moulded itself to his shaft. He reached a hand below and pinched his nipple almost painfully, arching his back as the pain rolled over him and mixed with the pleasurable sensations.

"God," he gasped. "Fuck, yes."

The door opened and Sherlock walked back in, illuminated by the passageway light behind him making him look ethereal and angelic; he stopped in the doorway and gulped. "Oh."

"Shit," John groaned and stilled his hips. "What?"

"I-I left my phone," Sherlock mumbled as he reached for the device on the bedside table. "I'm sorry I interrupted."

"It's fine," John grumbled. "Night."

"Night," Sherlock mumbled and fled the room, closing the door behind him but not before John could see the outline of his hard cock in his pyjama bottoms and the flush over his cheeks.

That sight was enough to send John over the edge; he grabbed the pillow tightly and bit into the fabric as he stifled his groan and thrust a final time before spilling himself into his pyjama bottoms and onto the pillowcase. John let out a long and deep groan as the pent up frustration left him in a rush, leaving only tiredness and lethargy.

The doctor stripped his trousers and threw the pillow onto the floor as he pulled the duvet back over himself and fell into a sated sleep.

* * *

 

Sherlock returned to his room shaken and aroused; he had never had such a reaction before based on an actual erotic experience and his cock twitched and bobbed in his trousers as he pushed his palm against his length.

_ Damn John Watson,  _ his inner voice screamed,  _ damn him for making me feel so uncertain. _

Sherlock had never understood the need for sex or affection; his experience with crime and murder had shown that the risks that people took in order to have that momentary rush were often dangerous and criminal. Love led to jealousy, jealousy to anger, anger to hate.

He sat down on his bed and exhale shakily; he hated feeling confused and unsure. The only way to remedy his uncertainty would be to actually go ahead and  _ finish  _ when he masturbated and catalogue the reactions and feelings.

He stood and undressed, folding his clothes carefully and retiring to bed naked and hard, his cock already flushed almost purple in colour and leaking copiously against his stomach. The detective ran his fingers along the shaft and winced at the sensation of nails against his sensitive glans; he moved away and stroked his fingers over his balls, feeling the texture of them drawn up to his body.

_ I wonder how many sperm are in there at the moment,  _ he thought, sending him momentarily into quiet contemplation before he remembered what he was doing.

"Focus," he whispered to himself as he cupped his balls and rolled them around in his hands.

_ Is this going well?  _ His inner Sherlock asked giving a running commentary as Sherlock attempted to grip his shaft with his hand, realising that he had started to soften.

"Shut up," he hissed to himself, closing his eyes tightly and trying to remember how John was masturbating. He dipped into his mind palace and brought up the memory of John on his stomach, his hips grinding down onto the mattress as he sniffed and groaned into the pillow which he had used.  _ Probably just more comfortable  _ he insisted to himself.

_ I wonder which fabrics would be better for masturbation purposes.  _ His brain asked,  _ silk possibly? High count cotton would be good too. Couldn't have fabric which was too scratchy or painful unless the person masturbating was into a little bit of pain or denial; perhaps if they wore underwear or something between their skin and the bed… _

"For God's sake," Sherlock groaned as he threw his head back onto the pillow and pushed his curled up fists into his eyes. "Why is it so difficult?"

His cock was fully softened now and Sherlock glared at it evilly. He stood from the bed, got redressed and moved to the kitchen to continue his most recent experiment on fingernails and bleach.

* * *

 

John awoke the next morning feeling slightly more alert and less like death warmed up; he shuffled out of bed and swayed slightly as he gripped the bedside table, before pulling on pyjama bottoms and his dressing gown and staggering to the bathroom. He used the loo, brushed his teeth and checked his hair and face; deciding he could no longer hide from Sherlock he opened the bathroom door and walked into the kitchen where the detective sat in the same clothes as he had been wearing the night before, looking down his microscope.

"Morning," John mumbled.

"Good morning, John," Sherlock returned the greeting before looking up cautiously. "Should you be out of bed?"

"I feel better," John shrugged. "Was starting to go stir crazy staring at the walls."

Sherlock smiled and nodded. "Oh, there's water in the kettle if you want it, it should still be warm."

"Thanks," John brightened, realising that things weren't awkward between them. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Coffee and a nicotine patch," Sherlock nodded.

"Not really breakfast, is it?" John quipped as he put two slices of bread into the toaster and busied himself collecting jam and butter.

Sherlock was already back in his zone; he ignored the doctor as he pottered around the kitchen, smearing butter and jam onto his toast and moving into the living room where he opened his laptop, checking the emails and correspondence he had ignored during his sickness.

The two men sat in companionable silence whilst John read up on the news of the day and replied to messages which were deemed most important; he contacted Sarah to let her know he was still ill and would be in next week giving him five days to recover. John curled himself up in his chair, mindlessly watching some dreadful chat show before startling when he heard Sherlock talk.

"Velvet."

"Velvet?" John asked craning his neck to look at his friend. "What about it?"

"That would be the best fabric to masturbate with," Sherlock nodded.

"Oh…erm… okay?" John added, feeling his cheeks burn.

"I couldn't stop thinking about it after I saw you masturbating and rubbing yourself against your bed. I wondered which fabrics would be the best to use as an aid and I've just realised that it would be velvet," Sherlock continued.

"You do realise that this is extremely weird?" John asked. "I mean, we do weird all of the time but even for us… this is weird."

"Why?" Sherlock asked cautiously.

"You admitted you couldn't stop thinking about fabrics after seeing me wanking," John blushed. "That's not normally discussed between friends."

"Well, I was trying to masturbate," Sherlock explained as though John was stupid, "but my brain wouldn't stop thinking."

John decided that enough was enough; lifting his hand in the air he stopped Sherlock. "Please, no more. No more discussions of masturbation or orgasms for at least twenty-four hours. My sanity cannot take it."

Sherlock frowned and mumbled something under his breath before rolling his shoulders and returning to his experiment.

* * *

 

**23 hours, 59 minutes, 53 seconds later**

 

John was brushing his teeth when Sherlock burst unexpectedly into the bathroom.

"Ah, John," he smiled as he watched John frown angrily. The doctor had imposed a ‘absolutely no barging into the bathroom without prior notice’ rule which once again had been disregarded by Sherlock.

"Vot?" John grumbled as he spat the foamy mint toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

"What do you think about when you masturbate?" Sherlock asked expectantly.

John choked on the water he was rinsing with and gripped the edge of the sink tightly. "Fuck’s sake, Sherlock."

"What? You said no more discussions on masturbation for 24 hours," Sherlock insisted, "and it has been 24 hours and…" he checked his watch, "36 seconds."

"Christ," John whined. "Make me a cuppa and we'll talk about it."

John had wrestled with his feelings towards the detective all day and night; on the one hand, Sherlock was a prickly bastard who was selfish and self-centred, egotistical and rude but he was also caring and innocent; his love was hard gained but once you had Sherlock's trust and devotion it was a lifelong loyalty. John decided that he would help Sherlock regardless of the awkward conversation.

The older man slipped from the bathroom and padded to the living room where a cup of tea waited for him on the table beside his chair; Sherlock sat opposite looking excited and buzzed as he crossed his legs and steepled his fingers in front of his nose.

"Right," John sighed. "What do you need?"

"What do people think about during masturbation?" Sherlock asked.

"Well… a lot of things. Sexual experiences you've had, or want to have. Porn you have seen or people you find attractive," John shrugged. "Are you… You've had no experiences whatsoever?"

"John, you found out yesterday I've never orgasmed. What do you think?" Sherlock snorted derisively.

"Oh… yeah… sorry," John stumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Erm… well, what arouses you?"

"I don't know," Sherlock admitted. "I've never thought about it."

"Well, let's think about it now," John soothed, his own brain racing as he took this conversation further than he had ever planned.

"I don’t… how?" Sherlock mumbled, blushing pink from the tips of his ears down to his throat.

"Let’s talk about certain things and you can tell me if it stimulates you," John said softly, attempting to keep the waiver from his voice.

"Y-you want to know when I get hard?" Sherlock blushed.

"It doesn't have to be hard, just stimulated. Turned on, aroused," John shrugged. "Think of it as an experiment."

Sherlock nodded his head and hunkered down in his seat nervously; his body seemed to be thrumming with a new sensation he had never experienced before.

"Okay, let's start simple," John suggested. "Kissing?"

"I've only kissed two people," Sherlock admitted, "one for a case."

"And?" John probed.

"It was wet," Sherlock shrugged. "She tasted of fake strawberry lip-gloss and it was unpleasant."

John attempted to hide the shock of Sherlock saying  _ she;  _ he had always assumed Sherlock was interested in men.

"You're surprised," Sherlock cut in. "You expected me to be homosexual?"

"I just… I guess I assumed…" John mumbled.

"I am, if that helps," Sherlock shrugged. "Gay, that is."

"Oh," John nodded, "okay. She was for a case?"

Sherlock nodded in reply and thought back to the second person he had kissed.

"Second was a man named Ryan. We met at a party," Sherlock continued. "He was nice. Tasted of apple cider and menthol cigarettes."

"Did it arouse you?" John asked.

"I was aroused but had no intention of furthering our liaison," Sherlock admitted. "There was a fight at the party and we were soon dispersed. We never met again."

"How old were you?" John asked.

"Erm…nineteen," Sherlock reasoned, "at university."

"Okay, so I take it that's the furthest you've ever gone with somebody?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded in reply before adding, "Except when I touched your hair."

"Oh," John mumbled, "and that made you hard?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded.

"Right," John mumbled, taking a drink of his tea as a diversion. "What about somebody touching you? Can you imagine it?"

"I can try," Sherlock replied closing his eyes and breathing deeply. "Where are they touching me?"

John realised that this was closely resembling dirty talk but reasoned that if he stayed to innocent topics he should be able to help Sherlock understand his own body.

"Starting with your hands," John whispered. "Try to imagine somebody touching your hands."

"Why would they do that? Why not go straight for my penis?" Sherlock asked, opening his eye slightly.

"Foreplay," John smiled. "Building up the suspense."

"Okay, I'm imagining them giving me a handshake," Sherlock nodded. "What else? I'm not even remotely turned on."

John lowered his head to his hands and exhaled sharply with a chuckle. "Christ. Give me your hands."

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John warily before holding out his hands for John to grasp.

"Relax. Close your eyes, I have you," John soothed, as he looked around for some hand cream. He found some and squirted it onto his palm before warming it and running his hands over the backs of Sherlock's.

Sherlock shuddered and bit his lip as John began massaging the cream into his long fingers, into the webbing between his digits and circling his thumb onto the palm of his friend's hand.

"How you feeling?" John asked.

"F-Fine," Sherlock groaned, nodding his head. "Okay."

John lost himself in the regular motions of stroking Sherlock's skin. He moved down to the thin skin of Sherlock's wrist and felt the steady thrum of Sherlock's pulse thudding beneath. The doctor moved back to Sherlock's fingers and focussed on caressing them tenderly.

"J-John," Sherlock mumbled. "I'm starting to harden."

"Okay," John nodded, "that's fine, you're doing well, Sherlock."

Sherlock preened under the praise and took a calming breath. "What next?"

John thought of all of his personal erogenous zones and quickly zipped through the ones which would be less threatening to a nervous virgin. "Ears."

"My ears?" Sherlock opened his eyes angrily. "Are you mocking me?"

"Sherlock," John soothed, "it's a sensitive and sensual part of your body, relax and let me show you. May I?"

Sherlock looked suspicious but nodded, watching as John stood from his chair and moved behind Sherlock's own. 

"Relax."

The younger man continued to be sceptical as John brushed his curls out of the way and gently pinched the detective’s earlobe between his thumb and finger, rolling it and stroking the fleshy skin before moving up the shell of his ear. Sherlock shuddered and mewled softly before biting his lower lip.

"You're doing well, how does it feel?" John asked, trying to sound casual but found his voice was deeper and full of lust.

"G-Good," Sherlock nodded, feeling John's fingers slip from his ear.

"Relax," John smiled as he ran his nails down Sherlock's jaw line.

"I-I'm very hard now," Sherlock admitted with a groan.

"Do you think you can finish now?" John asked. "You're aroused enough."

"I can try," Sherlock nodded; his cheeks were flushed and his breathing heavy as John moved his hands away from Sherlock's face and reseated himself, attempting to hide his own erection.

John took a sip of his freezing cold tea and winced at the temperature before putting his hands on his lap.

"I'll just… go then," Sherlock mumbled, covering his crotch with his hands and leaving the room towards his bedroom. He pulled down his trousers and pulled off his shirt as he lay naked on his bed and touched his prick.

"Right," Sherlock said softly. "I can do this."

He took his prick into his hand and began a gentle rhythm; flicking his wrist at the tip he felt the first drips of precum drip onto his lower stomach. He groaned loudly and closed his eyes, imagining the feeling of John's fingers on his own.

_ Why does John not have calluses?  _ His brain asked.  _ He should have. He was in the army, he spent his days wielding a scalpel, he should at least have delves where it sat. _

Sherlock shook his head and focussed on breathing through the distraction; he continued to stroke and caress his sensitive flesh.

_ Think about John touching your ears.  _

He forced himself to relax and remember the touches; he groaned and arched into his touch as he focussed on what had happened in the living room.

_ He could smell tea, the smell of John's deodorant and the remnants of the experiment he had been completing. The smell of bleach and slightly rotting flesh… _

Sherlock grumbled and let his head fall back. Whenever he had previously masturbated he had never had an issue with concentrating, he wasn't sure why it was so impossible now.

"Sherlock?" John called from outside the door. "Are you alright?"

"No," Sherlock grumbled. "I can't do it."

"Are you decent?" John asked as he pushed the door open slightly. "Can I come in?"

Sherlock covered his softening prick with the covers before agreeing that John could enter. The two men stared at one another awkwardly until John cleared his throat.

"It didn't work then?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I started thinking of rotting flesh."

"Obviously, as you do." John rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps I'm not supposed to ejaculate? Maybe I'm just not built for it." Sherlock grumbled and folded his arms with a petulant pout.

"You just need to relax and stop thinking so much," John laughed.

"Will you… stay?" Sherlock blushed. "You don't have to touch me… but… you make me relaxed."

John felt a bolt of warmth through his body as he looked down at his best friend and flatmate; he knew this was way, way past friendship boundaries but found he couldn't care any less.

"Of course," John nodded before biting his lower lip, "but I want to do a few things first."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and nodded as John walked into his bedroom and returned with a vanilla scented candle, some lubricant, matches and his IPod speaker dock.

"Err…" Sherlock started before closing his mouth, he didn't want to scare John away.

The doctor lit the candle and left it across the room so the lingering scent of vanilla was only barely noticeable. He walked back to the bed and placed the lubricant and IPod dock onto the bedside table before sitting beside his friend on the mattress.

"Do you have a preference in what you would like to listen to?" John asked, scrolling through his IPod music.

"I don't… why are we listening to music and not just masturbating?" Sherlock asked, clearly antsy.

"It’ll help you relax more if you're listening to something," John insisted. "I have 101 Classical greats if that'll do?"

Sherlock shrugged and watched as John pressed the play button; the soft sounds of violins floated through the speakers as John turned his attention back to Sherlock.

"Okay, I'll just be here," John soothed. "You do what you need to do."

Sherlock bit his lower lip and grasped his softened prick as he attempted to coax it back to life. His brain was quieted by the sounds of Mozart and he focussed on each note as his cock finally began to harden once more.

"That's it," John cooed. "Oh, do you want me to stay quiet?"

"No," Sherlock mumbled as he wrapped his long and dexterous fingers around his own shaft and stroked up to the tip before returning to the base, a soft sigh escaping his lips unknowingly.

"Have you ever experimented with your body? What feels good?" John whispered, his own voice slightly quivering.

Sherlock shook his head.

"Touch your nipples," John insisted. "Tell me what it feels like."

Sherlock moved his empty hand to his chest and ran a finger around his areola, feeling it tighten and pucker up from the sensation; he groaned and opened his eyes to look at John who grinned knowingly.

"Y-Your other one," John whispered, his own cock becoming bothersome in his pyjama bottoms.

Sherlock brushed his hand across his chest and pinched the other nipple slightly harder, arching his back into the sensation and whining deeply. "John..."

"It's alright, Sherlock, I'm right here," John smiled softly.

Sherlock felt too hot; kicking away the covers he bared himself naked before remembering that John was in the room. He reasoned that John had seen countless naked bodies in both his army days and as a doctor so adding the detective’s wouldn't be that different ( _ plus, John had stitched him up multiple times).  _ He stroked his shaft and rolled his nipples between his fingers as the music changed to Rachmaninov. He arched into the touch and groaned as his eyes rolled at the pure bliss he felt when he stroked his finger softly over the bump which connected his foreskin and shaft.

John gulped and inhaled deeply as he watched Sherlock kick off the covers and show himself naked, flushed and hard for the first time. John's eyes strayed over the long, lean expanse of Sherlock's body taking in every flaw and imperfection to store in his own memory; the soft smattering of curled dark hair which sat on his chest and nowhere else, the countless white-silver scars which littered his skin which John himself had cleaned and sutured. His gaze lingered on the thatch of curls above Sherlock's prick; John was surprised to see it was wild and unkempt, so unlike the rest of Sherlock's physique.

"Stop thinking," Sherlock mumbled, interrupting John from his thoughts. "I can hear you."

"Sorry," John chuckled nervously. "How’s it feeling?"

"Good," Sherlock huffed. "I can feel the tingles starting."

"Okay, here," John offered, holding the lube and tapping Sherlock's hand. "Hold it out."

Sherlock followed instruction and held out his hand as the cold gel was put onto his palm. He smeared it onto his cock and shuddered at the sudden chill. "Cold," he mumbled.

"I know, sorry," John nodded with a smile. "Now, move your other hand down to your balls and just gently roll and caress them. If you wanted, you could go further and press down on your perineum to stimulate your prostate from the outside."

Sherlock seemingly had difficulty following the instructions as he looked up and blinked at John, before his hand skimmed down his skin to the sac between his legs. His dominant hand continued the rhythm he had begun on his shaft whilst his other moved to cup his testicles, stroking and rubbing them which immediately caused him to roll his eyes and arch his back.

"Christ," Sherlock groaned before muttering something in French which John couldn’t understand.

"Mmhmm," John smiled, loving that he could teach the usually confident detective something.

"John," Sherlock groaned deeply. "John, something- oh god- it's… I can't stop it..."

"Shh," John soothed. "It’s okay, it's going to happen so just relax. It'll be alright."

"I don't… I'm – oh Christ!" Sherlock wailed as he threw back his head, his hips suddenly thrusting into the tight ring his fingers had made. "John!"

John smiled and continued whispering to his best friend as the detective bucked wildly, his eyes closed tight and his mouth open wide.

"Oh!" was the only noise which escaped Sherlock's lips before he removed his hand and grabbed John's pyjama t-shirt, holding it tightly with both hands as Sherlock's cock twitched and bobbed before the first thick spurt erupted from the tight skin of his prick.

"Sherlock, you…" John started before realising that Sherlock couldn't hear him. The detective was panting and wailing so loudly that it sounded as though he was being murdered; out of comfort and loyalty John reached down and took Sherlock's cock in his hand, stroking him through his first official orgasm and coaxing out more of the thick white cum which continued to spurt for at least fifteen seconds, covering Sherlock's belly and chest with long, wet lines.

The sounds which were escaping Sherlock's lips were unlike anything John had ever heard; blissful whimpers and low pitched growls fought for dominance as Sherlock shook against John's body, his eyes clamped shut tight. John stroked the remaining drips from Sherlock's cock before letting it softly fall onto the younger man's stomach where it continued to twitch and bob for a few seconds.

"Sherlock?" John asked, aware that the detective was probably on his own planet but he needed to ensure his friend was okay. "Sherlock, let go."

The detective winced and removed his hands from John's shirt and looked up at John's face with a blush. "Sorry."

"Not at all," John smiled. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh," Sherlock said, visibly relieved at John's words. "Mm’ fine."

John looked down at the mess which streaked Sherlock's body and smiled before walking to the bathroom and wetting a hand towel in the sink; he returned to the bedroom and sat beside his flatmate and began to clean off the sticky cum which glistened in the sunlight flooding through the window.

"Jawwwn?" Sherlock drawled as he opened one eye a little. "Words… won’t..."

"I know," John laughed. "It seemed pretty intense." He watched as Sherlock nodded and continued. "You just relax, get some sleep and we’ll talk later."

"Hokay," Sherlock nodded, "sleep."

"Yes, you sleep." John grinned as he finished wiping Sherlock down before pulling the covers back over him and stroking his hair lightly. "G’night."  
"Hnngg," Sherlock attempted before he was lightly snoring, leaving a very aroused doctor holding a sperm covered towel. John turned off the music and blew out the candle, before closing Sherlock's bedroom and retiring to his own bedroom to deal with his own arousal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of a case fic but not really. John puts Sally in her place and Mycroft sticks his nose in.
> 
> Also, i mention fetishes. I am not suggesting that anyone who has these fetishes are weird or unusual, i just needed a link between the two half chapters I'd written. I received all info from this website http://www.buzzfeed.com/rainbowcrab/16-strange-disturbing-sexual-fetishes-2xqn

The following days were perfect and calming; Sherlock was genial and happy as he wandered around the flat without stomping or shouting that he was bored. He played his violin softly and made John tea without being asked; he even tolerated Mycroft’s presence for three whole minutes without becoming snide and nasty towards his brother. John was in heaven.

Their relationship hadn’t changed; they were still flatmates, best friends, work partners and a million other labels which John didn't deem necessary to list. They were content to sit quietly together and read or watch television since John still wasn’t feeling 100% healed. He was dozing on the sofa when he heard the familiar whoosh of fabric skimming past him as Sherlock began to pace and mutter.

_ So much for peace and quiet. _

"Sherlock?" John asked groggily. "S’up?"

"It doesn’t make sense," Sherlock muttered as he paced, his robe billowing behind him like a camel coloured cape.

"What doesn’t?" John asked rubbing his eyes. "Have we got a case?"

"What?" Sherlock spat. "No, NO! It's ridiculous John!"

"Join us today on ‘let’s make no fucking sense’, _ "  _ John grumbled, and fell back heavily onto the arm of the sofa.

"I cannot achieve orgasm again," Sherlock shouted, slightly too loud and making John wonder if Mrs Hudson was home and whether she could hear Sherlock's manic shouting.

"Why not?" John asked, pulling an arm over his eyes.

"I don’t know! I followed the same timing, I touched my nipples for an adequate amount of time and cupped my testicles the same way I did when you were there," he continued to rant, "but nothing happened."

"Were you relaxed?" John asked. "What were you thinking about?"

"The migrations of jellyfish," Sherlock admitted.

"You need to think sexy thoughts," John groaned. "Do you want me to come in again?"

"You… You’d do that?" Sherlock blushed. "I thought… you said…"

"Not gay," John nodded. "But if it helps to get you relaxed and sated then I can manage."

* * *

 

Sherlock and John returned to Sherlock's bedroom and sat on the bed once more; Sherlock nervously fiddled with his fingers as he waited for John's instructions.

“Are you getting undressed then?" John smiled and chuckled gently. "Can’t do much fully dressed."

"Oh, of course," Sherlock nodded and stripped down until he was in just his black boxers before climbing back onto the bed. He looked at John nervously, as though he wanted to speak but was too afraid.

"What?" John asked cautiously.

"Would you… I mean, I liked the hand and ear thing…" Sherlock grimaced at not being able to speak correctly. "Could you show me more?"

The doctor looked up shocked but nodded his head; Sherlock relaxed slightly and sat up to look at John expectantly. "What should I do?"

John moved until his back was against the headboard of the bed and placed a pillow over his crotch (to cushion his cock from Sherlock and also to hide his inevitable erection).

"Come and sit here, back against my front," John insisted, watching as Sherlock shuffled into position and relaxed against the hard muscles of John's chest and stomach. "Is there anything you wouldn’t want to do or wouldn’t want me to touch?"

"My… rectum," Sherlock blushed.

"That's fine," John chuckled softly. "I meant more on your top half."

"Oh, then no," Sherlock shrugged as he let his weight fall back. "Can we have music again?"

"Course," John nodded, thankful he had left his IPod dock in Sherlock's room. He fiddled with the buttons and shuffled the classical album. "Okay?"

"Mmhmm," Sherlock nodded.

"Right," John started, "if I do anything you don’t like, tell me immediately, okay?"

Sherlock nodded again and braced himself for John's contact; he was still startled and jumpy when he felt the soft touch of John's fingers running down his sides and John's breath on his naked neck.

"Shh," John soothed as he exhaled once more onto the soft skin of Sherlock's neck and throat. "Relax."

Sherlock attempted to nod his understanding but his breath was stolen when he felt John's lips against his neck. "Oh god..."

"Shit, should I stop?" John asked pulling away.

"NO! Please," Sherlock cried, "don’t."

John smiled and used his fingers to push away Sherlock's curls before pressing lingering and breathy kisses over the soft skin, his tongue occasionally flicking out to taste the detective’s body. His mind reminded him how alike Sherlock's skin was to the women he often dated, only more responsive as Sherlock groaned and whimpered quietly at each intimate touch.

"Touch yourself," John insisted as he kissed and licked at the exposed flesh. "Gently."

Sherlock lifted his hips and pulled down his boxers, effectively freeing his cock from its confines; he wrapped his hand around the shaft and began to softly stroke, reaching to the bedside table for the lube only to find it had disappeared. "John?"

"Shit, I took it back in my room," John grumbled. "I don’t want to move you so give me your hand."

Sherlock did as he was told and held out his hand, grimacing when John spat into the palm. "There."

"That is revolting," Sherlock grumbled. "Do you know how much bacteria is in human saliva?"

"I suppose that means you want me to stop licking your neck then?" John quipped.

"No. No, don’t,” Sherlock laughed. "I can survive your bacteria."

"You charmer," John rolled his eyes. "Less talking, more stroking."

Sherlock went back to the job at hand -ahem- and shuddered lustfully at the thought that John's saliva was now slicking up his cock. His precum dripped to mix in with the spit as he stroked himself slightly harder and faster, dipping a hand down to his balls to cup and fondle them.

John used his hand to pinch and roll Sherlock's nipples as he focussed on kissing and licking Sherlock's neck and jawline. He moved across to the younger man’s earlobe, nibbling and sucking the flesh between his teeth and listening to the heady moan which escaped Sherlock's lips.

"John," Sherlock groaned, "please..."

In truth, the detective had no idea what he was asking for but he knew he needed more. He was desperate for the same release he had felt three days before.

"Shh, love," John whispered, unaware he had used such an intimate pet name. "It's alright."

Sherlock was oblivious to John's wording, his hips bucking and thrusting into his slick fist as precum poured from him onto his stomach. John held him tightly, swapping between nipples and kissing every inch of Sherlock's neck until his lips and tongue felt numb. Sherlock was gasping and crying for more, weak little mewls of pleasure escaping him without his consent as he desperately urged himself towards his orgasm.

Sherlock turned his head and looked directly at John, their eyes meeting for long lingering moments before Sherlock dropped his gaze to John's lips and back up to his stormy coloured eyes. John realised what Sherlock wanted.

"No, Sherlock," John shook his head at the thought of kissing a distracted and hormonally charged Sherlock and pinched the younger man’s nipples to distract him. The gesture worked and Sherlock was soon staring down at his own cock as it slipped into his fist again and again, he moaned and writhed against John's chest as he bucked into his own grip before finally,  _ finally  _ reaching his peak.

Sherlock felt that he was on the edge of a great cliff, the thought of tumbling off terrifying and exhilarating all at once but teetering on the ledge wasn’t an option. Sherlock groaned deep and filthily as he pumped his hips once, twice and then he was coming, his orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave and sending him flailing wildly over the edge of his metaphorical cliff.

"John. John, it's happening… it's… oh..." he groaned as his hand continued to stroke his stiff flesh whilst the other gripped John's trouser leg tightly. His stomach muscles clenched and juddered under the pale skin before it was being drenched in pearly liquid; Sherlock gasped and keened as he stroked himself through the orgasm, coaxing the remaining drops from his prick and falling heavily against John.

"Okay?" John smiled as he stroked Sherlock's hair softly.

"Mmhmm," Sherlock mumbled, embarrassed at his predicament. "I understand if you want to leave."

"Leave?" John asked confused.

"I… overstepped. Forgive me." Sherlock blushed as he realised the absurdity of their conversation. Him naked and covered in ejaculate with a softening prick lying against his thigh whilst John supported him with his body.

"That's not why I didn't…" John trailed off.

"Why then?" Sherlock asked, turning himself around to look at John and deduce him as quickly as he could. The doctor’s eyes were almost completely black with desire and Sherlock could feel the outline of John's penis, hard and pushed against him.

"I didn't want you to regret it. You were in a very vulnerable headspace," John explained. "Probably the most vulnerable a man can be in."

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes but continued to listen.

"I want you to kiss me because you want to, not because your body and hormones are insisting that it's what you want," John said softly, gently sliding himself from under Sherlock's surprising weight and standing in the doorway flushed and erect.

Sherlock nodded his understanding and lowered his eyes to the floor. "John, I…"

When he looked back up, John was gone and already in his own bedroom.

* * *

 

Sherlock was stressed; he paced back and forth around the yard whilst muttering angrily to himself in French and English, seemingly swapping between the two languages flawlessly as his mind attempted to unravel a particularly difficult case. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, and couldn’t do the work as his mind was full of  _ Doctor John bloody Watson.  _ Whenever Sherlock attempted to turn his head his hair would brush against his neck making him think of John's lips, how perfectly they fit onto Sherlock's skin. He would picture John's hand holding his erupting prick the first time he orgasmed; the soft soothing sounds of John calming him whilst the unexpected pleasure rushed through him.

He attempted to think of the victim; her hair was the same colour as John's blondest strands which immediately led Sherlock to wonder about John's pubic hair. Would it be the same colour or darker? He hadn’t actually seen John naked (he had seen him behind the shower curtain or with a towel wrapped around his middle) so he had no basis of comparison. His mind unravelled until he was pacing frantically as he tried to clear his mind of sentimental nonsense which wasn’t relevant to the case.

John looked over at his best friend sadly, then looked at Sally and Anderson who were sniggering at the back of the room watching Sherlock struggle; John immediately glared at both of them before realising why they were laughing. Sherlock was erect and pushing against his trousers.

Blushing for Sherlock's sake, John walked to his friend and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder softly.

"John?" Sherlock blinked shocked. "Have they found the woman’s socks yet?"

"No." John shook his head "You need to come with me."

"Why?" Sherlock frowned. "I'm busy."

John squared his shoulders and looked up at his friend determinedly. "Trust me."

Sherlock looked at John's face and nodded as he allowed himself to be led by the arm down to the disabled toilets at the end of the hallway; Sherlock frowned again and sighed, "I don’t need to use the bathroom."

"Yes you do," John mumbled as he pushed Sherlock inside and locked the door. "You're erect."

"Oh," Sherlock looked down at himself, "so I am."

"People noticed," John grimaced. "I think you should deal with it here."

"Here?" Sherlock complained. "This is a public lavatory, John."

"I don’t see any other choice, Sherlock. Unless you want Anderson and Donovan discussing your sexual stimulus whilst thinking of murder victims, I suggest you deal with it."

Sherlock grumbled something quietly under his breath and closed his eyes. "We don’t have the candle… or the music or lube," he insisted. "I can’t do it without."

John could see that Sherlock was getting himself worked up, and attempted to soothe him as best he could with soft hushes and gentle caresses down his arms. "I'll see what I can do to help."

The detective nervously nodded and rubbed himself over his black tailored trousers, wincing at the sensitivity of his cock from being hard for so long and neglected. He unzipped himself and worked his cock through the flies of his trousers, his hand wrapping around the shaft and teasing the head as he stroked.

John wasn’t sure what he could do without having Sherlock naked and lying down; their size difference meant that it was unwieldy attempting to kiss Sherlock's neck and throat so he decided to swallow his nervousness and become more  _ hands on  _ than he had envisioned. He wrapped his own smaller but thicker hand around Sherlock's and watched as the detective gasped and threw back his head, narrowly avoiding head-butting the doctor.

"Careful," John smiled as he followed Sherlock's movements, learning each stroke which brought Sherlock closer to his orgasm. The detective bucked his hips into their grip and groaned deeply, only silencing when John shushed him and reminded him that they were together in a public loo. Sherlock bit his lip painfully as he felt his orgasm rush at him, the feeling of John's hand on his wrapped around his prick almost too good to believe.

"John… I'm going to… oh no… where should I?" Sherlock gasped, panic stricken as his movements became shakier and less focussed.

"Shit," John swore before cupping his hands under Sherlock's tip just in time to catch the first spray of cum which was unleashed from Sherlock's twitching shaft. The younger man threw back his head and groaned loudly as he worked his cock and milked the remaining drips into the cup made by John's hand.

"God," Sherlock muttered, his face flushed and his lips swollen from bites. "Thank you."

John moved to the sink and cleared his throat for Sherlock to start the water; he rinsed off the pool of cum before soaping his hands and washing himself clean before drying off with the paper towels. Sherlock zipped himself up and checked his reflection; except for the slightly flushed pink cheeks he looked reasonably normal, unlike John who was sporting a rather impressive erection of his own.

"It’ll go down," John insisted. "I expect you want to go back to solving the case."

"I… I could help you," Sherlock mumbled embarrassed as he flicked his eyes seductively up to John's face.

"You don’t have to do that," John insisted, but he was already leaking inside his underwear and reasoned that if he didn't relieve himself soon, he might end up coming in his pants like a teenager.

"I'll stand behind you, that way you don’t have to show yourself to me," Sherlock whispered as he took a position behind John and began kissing the doctor’s neck and throat. "Tell me if I do it wrong."

"Nggnghh," was the only reply John could formulate as Sherlock's lips found his most sensitive spot almost immediately, causing his cock to twitch inside the fabric of his cords.

John unzipped himself and quickly took his cock in hand; it didn't take long until he was thrusting hard into his fist and grunting wildly as Sherlock continued to explore the sensitive skin of his throat and jaw line. John tensed, his balls tightening to his body as he angled himself over the sink and began to cum, watching as strands of white covered the porcelain.

"Fuck, Sherlock," John groaned as he came before finally resting his hands onto the sink as he caught his breath. He realised Sherlock was still kissing his neck. "Erm… you can stop that now."

"Oh, sorry," Sherlock blushed and straightened himself up. "Well, thank you.”

John smiled and ran the water, rinsing out the basin and ensuring it was clean before tucking himself away and turning back to Sherlock. "Not a problem."

The moment lingered for a few seconds too long as both men stared at one another; Sherlock's eyes seemed to bore into John's very soul as he searched for  _ something  _ that John couldn’t recognise. John's mouth watered and his fingers twitched to be allowed to bury themselves into Sherlock's hair whilst they snogged passionately but he stopped himself before clearing his throat and turning his back. "We should go…"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded and breezed past John without another word.

* * *

John sneered at Sally and Anderson as he re-entered Lestrade’s offices; the two giggled childishly as John passed, immediately forcing him to stiffen his spine and turn to face them.

"What?"

"Nothing," Sally smirked. "Just you know, the freak has a hard on visible to anybody with eyes which you then notice. You escort him to the toilet and come out both flushed and sweating with a happy look on your face… nothing suspicious there."

"How about you shut the fuck up and mind your own business?" John snapped, watching Sally’s face drop in shock. "I heard all about what you and Anderson here were doing in the stationary cupboard. Anal? Really Sally? At work on the clock? Tut tut," John laughed mirthlessly.

"I…I wasn’t..." Sally stammered, only to be stopped by John's Captain glare.

"I suggest from now on you think about how you speak to people and the things you say otherwise you might end up in trouble. I’d hate to think how Mycroft Holmes would feel about somebody bullying his baby brother," John smiled. "I imagine you’d be on the first cargo plane to Siberia."

Anderson looked at Sally before taking a step away; Sally looked at him angrily before glaring at John and storming off towards her own desk.

"Bitch," John mumbled under his breath as he walked to find Sherlock.

* * *

 

 

"It wasn’t even a sock fetishist serial killer," Sherlock complained as he threw himself down onto the sofa. "It was just a simple crime of passion but her socks slipped off in the struggle and were washed away."

"Oh," John smiled as he picked up the menus for the local takeaways. "I didn't even know sock fetishes existed."

"If you can imagine it, there's probably a fetish for it," Sherlock grumbled. "People are so confusing."

"Rubbing custard on yourself?" John asked with a smile.

"Yes, it's called splodging," Sherlock replied without looking up.

"Erm… Trees?" John laughed.

"Dendrophilia," Sherlock replied.

"Bitten by insects?" John asked, determined to catch Sherlock out.

"Formicophilia," Sherlock yawned. "When you're quite finished."

"Chinese or Thai?" John asked holding up the menus.

"Are we still talking fetishes?" Sherlock asked confused, looking up. "Oh, erm… Chinese."

John laughed and ordered the meals before settling down in pleasant silence to watch a film. The pair ate together when the food arrived before retiring to their bedrooms to sleep off the lethargy which followed a gruelling case… at least that was what John insisted he was going to do.

John lay back on his bed with his cock in his hand; he hadn’t even bothered to undress, frantically pulling his pyjama pants down to below his arse whilst he grabbed his cock and pulled. He knew he wouldn’t last, couldn’t resist the urge rub himself raw after hearing Sherlock's beautiful breathy moans once again. He stroked his cock quickly, tightening the grip around his head the way he had perfected over the years and bucked his hips desperately.

The doctor remembered the look on Sherlock's face in those few moments when time stood still and a kiss was imminent both in bed and in the Yard toilet; Sherlock's gaze lingering on John's face, their eyes meeting and holding for those brief seconds before John had spoke and broken the spell.

He rubbed the precum around the head of his dick and hissed at the sensitivity as he stroked across the slit with his thumb. "Christ," he mumbled to himself as he bucked his hips.

The door to his bedroom was opened quickly and urgently as Sherlock strode through in his usual uncaring way; he threw himself down beside John and pressed their lips together. It was obvious that Sherlock had no idea what to do next and his eyes widened as he realised he hadn’t thought far enough ahead and panicked, relaxing slightly when John smiled and opened his mouth, flicking out his tongue and caressing the bottom lip of Sherlock's perfect mouth.

John had never heard noises leave his lips like the ones which Sherlock swallowed at that moment; soft gasps and desperate whimpers were breathed into the younger man to be stored forever in Sherlock's mind palace. The detective was a quick learner and soon allowed his tongue to touch John's, causing the doctor’s arousal to skyrocket and his orgasm to explode from him in a huge burst which hit his and Sherlock's cheek. Both men gasped and laughed into one another’s mouth as John continued to stroke himself through his climax, mewling with pleasure at the tingling sensation flooding every vein.

The two men pulled away red, flushed and dripping with cum from their cheek; John blushed crimson and mumbled, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Sherlock wiped away the sticky mark with his finger and looked at it before sniffing it. "Can I keep it?"

John laughed hard and rolled his eyes. "What, as a pet?"

"No… for an experiment," Sherlock said in confusion. "What sort of a lunatic do you think I am? Who keeps semen as a pet?"

"I was… joking," John groaned. "Never mind. Knock yourself out."

Sherlock looked at John before whispering, "Hold on," and leaving John's room, returning with a glass test tube which he used to scrape up some of John's ejaculate from his stomach. "There."

All in all, it was the strangest sexual encounter of his life. He was essentially being sperm jacked.

"Was that… enjoyable?" Sherlock asked, slightly hesitant.

"Perfect," John smiled towards his friend.

"I haven’t kissed anyone since I was 19, I'm out of practice," Sherlock blushed.

"You were fine," John nodded as he stroked Sherlock's cheek with a clean hand. "You did good."

"And your orgasm was satisfactory?" the detective asked.

"What do you think?" John laughed as he wiped the cum from his own cheek which had been forgotten due to the strange intermission. "It's never gone that far before."

Sherlock preened under John's words and felt pride as he smiled down at his friend. "Good. Well, I shall leave you alone for a while; I have an experiment to complete."

John grinned and let his head fall back onto the pillow with a soft thud as he wondered what on earth he had volunteered for.

* * *

 

Sherlock was returning from a meeting with his homeless network when the black governmental car pulled up beside him and the electric window was wound down.

"Brother mine," the posh voice oozed, "care for a lift?"

"No,” Sherlock said as he continued walking with the car trailing him. "Piss off Mycroft or you'll be arrested for kerb crawling."

"And that would make you a whore then, Sherlock?" Mycroft smiled. "How very telling."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asked angrily as he glared at his brother’s smug grin.

"Nothing at all," Mycroft chuckled. "Well, good day."

Sherlock opened the car door and climbed inside opposite his brother, crossing his legs and glaring at Mycroft. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

"I'm concerned for your welfare, of course," the auburn haired man grinned.

"As you can see, I'm fine," Sherlock grumbled.

"Yes, you're positively glowing," Mycroft commented. "I wonder what has happened recently to cause you to have such a spring in your step."

"None of your business," Sherlock spat, knowing that he was losing the battle of wills against his brother.

"Oh," Mycroft smiled and then grimaced, "oh."

Sherlock could only blush and look out of the window as Mycroft seemingly deduced his and John's recent  _ adventures. _

"Well, I am surprised," Mycroft added without bothering to sound surprised.

"Go to hell, Mycroft," Sherlock muttered to himself.

The car pulled up outside Baker Street, where Sherlock climbed out and pulled out his keys. "And don’t bother trying to spy on me."

"Why, brother mine, I'm positively offended." Mycroft held a hand up to his chest in mock hurt. "Everything I do, I do for your safety."

"You're a voyeur and a control freak," Sherlock insisted as he opened the door. "And stay away from John."

* * *

John had heard the commotion from his chair where he sat reading the paper; looking out of the window, he say Mycroft’s car driving away just as he heard Sherlock climb the stairs.

"You okay?" John asked as Sherlock walked in and threw himself onto the sofa without taking off his great coat.

"Mycroft," was the only reply as Sherlock curled up around himself and sulked.

"Oh?" John asked but realised that Sherlock was already deep in his mind palace and wouldn’t be out for a while. "I'll just talk to myself then."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words in bold are text messages.

When Sherlock pulled himself from the upkeep of his mind palace he realised two things: one, it was dark and the house was silent, and two: he was desperate for a pee. He stood quickly and realised he was still wearing his coat before striding to the bathroom and taking care of his bladder.

"John?" Sherlock shouted as he took off his coat and hung it on the peg. "JAWWWWWN?"

"What?" came the curt reply from the direction of John's bedroom.

Sherlock took off towards John's room and burst through the door. "Ah, there you are."

"Yes, how surprising," John grumbled sleepily, "it's 4.28am on a Monday morning. How unusual that I should be sleeping."

"You're doing sarcasm," Sherlock replied before plonking himself down on John's bed. "I want to do kissing."

"Now?" John groaned. "Sherlock, I have to be up for work in an hour and a half."

"But…" Sherlock started before frowning, "I'm aroused."

"Sherlock, we need the money I get from the clinic to live," John continued softly, his hand stroking through Sherlock's curls. "If you can manage tonight then I promise tomorrow after work we’ll go out for dinner and you can have as much kissing as you please."

Sherlock considered it for a moment and nodded, "Okay."

"Okay," John nodded in return. "Now, would you like to sleep?"

"In here?" Sherlock gasped. "With you?"

"Why not?" John shrugged. "I've got to be up in a bit anyway."

Sherlock bit his lower lip and began to undress down to his boxer shorts and vest, before climbing into John's bed and allowing himself to be pulled under the covers and against John's chest once more. Sherlock relaxed into John's embrace as the older man wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and held him tightly as the other hand curled itself into Sherlock's hair.

The detective counted John's breaths and felt his heart beating against his back until he fell asleep, happy and content in John's arms.

* * *

"Shhhh, go back to sleep," John soothed as his alarm went off and woke both men. "Stay here and get more rest."

Sherlock stretched lazily and rolled onto John's side of the bed, smelling the slightly sweat laced pillowcase. "Okay."

John smiled and ran his hand through Sherlock's hair before kissing him on the forehead. "Text me when you wake up."

"Hmm," Sherlock moaned as he began to fall back to sleep.

* * *

 

John walked to work rather than get a cab or the tube; it was a surprisingly warm spring day which made him smile and walk happily along the crowded pavements filled with bankers and traders. He wished he had Sherlock's deduction skills to learn what each person did, to learn their secrets and lifestyle without asking but all he could see was a selection of normal looking employees making their way to work.

He had expected to have a sexual or identity crisis regarding his and Sherlock's change of relationship boundaries, but found himself completely and totally calm; the only thing which worried him was how far Sherlock would want to take the relationship.

John wasn’t as straight as he insisted to everyone; he had had a few  _ dalliances  _ with men in his past. A hand job here, a blowjob there; a sweaty and rushed intercrural fuck against the wall with a newly qualified doctor who had joined his ranks. Neither man had considered themselves gay but things happened in the dead of night in the darkness of a warzone which wouldn’t normally happen in civvy life.

He had realised that he had an attraction to Sherlock from the instant they had met in the lab at Bart’s. The dark hair and light eyes of the stranger had immediately intrigued John, which later resulted in the disastrous flirting at Angelo’s later that night. The words "it's all fine" would haunt him for the rest of his life.

So John had taken Sherlock at his word; the detective was married to his work and that was that. John had continued dating, looking for somebody to fill the gap in his life and failing dreadfully but now, with the new development in their relationship, John was finally hopeful.

He was almost at the clinic when the black car pulled up.

"Dr Watson, a word?" Mycroft smiled condescendingly.

"I have a shift at the clinic," John said as he continued walking.

"It wasn’t a request," Mycroft replied, giving John his best glare.

John looked around and opened the door, climbing in beside Mycroft and slamming the door. "We could do without the theatrics, you know. Just call me or come around, you don’t need to kidnap me quite so often."

"Sherlock would know," Mycroft said as he looked down his pointy nose at the doctor.

"He’ll know when I get home," John laughed softly.

"Not my concern." Mycroft waved his hand. "What is my concern is my brother’s welfare."

"Oh?" John replied, attempting to sound as nonchalant and bored as possible.

"Yes, Dr Watson," Mycroft sneered. "My brother obviously cares for you a great deal regardless of my many warnings."

"Hold on," John held up his hand, "are you about to give me a talk on upholding your brother’s virtue?"

Mycroft grimaced and turned his head. "It's not his virtue I worry about."

"For fucks sake, get on with it. I need to be at work," John groaned. "What’s your point?"

Mycroft seemed startled at John's angry retort but covered it well. "My point,  _ Doctor Watson,"  _ he spat, "is that my brother has no experience in a romantic or physical relationship."

"I wonder why," John replied angrily. "The poor bloke couldn’t even have a wank without feeling guilty."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at John's crude language. "We all had our habits."

"And Sherlock was told that masturbation was wrong and dirty?" John asked. "How is that healthy?"

"My brother had a filthy habit of engaging in  _ that  _ regardless of time or place," Mycroft grimaced. "Mummy had to console the staff on numerous occasions after they walked in on him pleasuring himself in his bedroom."

"As a teenager, people shouldn’t have been walking into his bedroom without permission," John insisted. "God, if I think back to how often I did it as a teenager it's a wonder I ever left my room."

"Regardless," Mycroft continued, "it was either try to kerb his deviancy or fit him with a chastity cage. We decided against the latter knowing he wasn’t as willing to abide by the lock as some…" Mycroft trailed off with a blush.

"Is that what you did?" John asked genuinely curious. "You were fitted with a cage?"

"Yes," Mycroft admitted, "and it has kept me focussed ever since."

"Jesus," John groaned as the driver pulled up at the door of the clinic and released the locks on the doors. "Well, thanks for the kidnap but Mycroft, seriously, I won"t hurt Sherlock and I wouldn’t force him into anything he doesn’t want. You know that, you know me by now," he added with a soft smile.

"I do worry about him," Mycroft said softly before blinking and adopting his stoic facial expressions. "Have a lovely day, Dr Watson."

John went to close the door before grinning devilishly and saying loudly into the still open door, "You just need to have a wank and you'll feel much better."

He slammed the door and took off in a jog towards the entrance of the clinic, desperate to text Sherlock to tell him about their conversation.

* * *

Sherlock woke groggy and disoriented as he looked around at his surroundings; realising he was in John's bed he relaxed and nuzzled into the bedding which smelt so deliciously of his best friend. He checked his phone, and seeing no messages from Lestrade he opened a text message and sent it to John.

**I'm awake – SH**

* * *

**Your sperm is really very interesting – SH**

**Oh, er… thanks? I think – JW**

**I’d like to take it from the source next time. This sample has hair and sweat in it too – SH**

**That is the worst chat up line I've ever heard yet strangely it's working on me – JW**

**Are we still going to Angelo’s for dinner? – SH**

**Of course, if you're still up for it – JW**

**Yes – SH**

**Is this a date? – SH**

**Would you like it to be? – JW**

**I've never been on a date before – SH**

**Would you like to? – JW**

**Yes – SH**

**Then yes it is – JW**

**Are you going to wear your fuck me shoes? – SH**

**Which are they? – JW**

**The brown brogues. You always wear them when you go on your dates with women – SH**

**I don’t know yet – JW**

**You might get lucky, you never know – SH**

**With me I mean… - SH**

**Not with other women – SH**

**I got that – JW**

**Should I wear special pants? – SH**

**Why? – JW**

**That's what people do on dates where sexual congress is confirmed – SH**

**I didn't confirm sexual congress. I said kissing – JW**

**I'll wear special pants just to be sure – SH**

**I'll be home in an hour. Put on your special pants, put down my semen and get ready for our date – JW**

**I don’t think anybody in history has ever typed that sentence before – JW**

**I'm going for a shower. See you in a while – SH**

* * *

Sherlock stood under the hot water and let his head fall forward, watching as the rivers of water cascaded through his hair and created a curtain to the tub. He was beginning to think that this was a bad idea.

He had an attraction to John; of course he did, he had been physically attracted to the man before any sexual stimulus had been added to the equation but did he want a relationship? He had never experienced what relationships involved and he was almost certain that he wouldn’t be good at whatever sentiment that John expected however, he wouldn’t deny that he was intrigued by the sexual side of their new arrangement.

His cock had perked up in interest as he remembered John's breathy gasps as he came whilst kissing Sherlock; the detective was sure that his kissing technique was terrible however John hadn’t complained, he had gasped and whined into his mouth and erupted with such force that semen had hit their cheeks. Sherlock lowered his hand to wrap around his cock and began a slow rhythm; he dipped into his mind palace and relived the feeling of John's hand around his own as they moved together.

Sherlock moved his hand faster as he remembered John's orgasm flushed face; his coy smile and slightly glazed eyes when he had looked up at Sherlock. The detective had been sure that they were going to kiss in the toilet of the yard but he was glad they hadn’t; he didn't want their first proper kiss to be in a public lavatory.

"Sherlock?" John's voice penetrated the walls of the shower, causing Sherlock to drop his hands from his cock as though he’d been burnt.

"I wasn’t masturbating," Sherlock mumbled ashamed before realising that John couldn’t hear him. "I'm in here, John."

"Still?" John laughed. "You'll be all pruned. I'm not taking a raisin to dinner."

Sherlock smiled and quickly washed himself and his hair, before wrapping a towel around his waist and exiting the bathroom where John was standing. The doctor scanned Sherlock from top to bottom before licking his lower lip unconsciously.

"Have a nice day?" Sherlock asked as he used a second towel to dry his hair.

"Hmmm, dull," John shrugged as he clicked on the kettle, "you?"

"I looked at your semen," Sherlock continued, "and I had a sandwich."

"Wow, you'll give yourself a nosebleed doing so much in one day," John quipped as he put teabags into the cups and attempted to find a clean spoon.

"John, I'm not sure I'll be a good boyfriend," Sherlock spluttered before looking shocked that he’d actually spoken.

"Er… okay?" John flushed and turned to look at the still half naked man-child in front of him.

"I expect you would want some sort of sentimental relationship which I'm not sure I can give you." Sherlock bit his lower lip and looked down at the floor. "I've never… had to be sentimental or emotional."

"Sherlock, we’ve been friends for years. We don’t need to do anything special. Just… be you." John smiled reassuringly. "If all we become is friends with kissing and occasional mutual masturbation then I'm happy with that."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and scanned John for dishonesty but found none; he nodded softly and blushed. "Right."

"Now, go and get dressed. I'll have tea waiting for you whilst I shower and then I'll take you for dinner." John smiled as he walked past and pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's shoulder in a simple gesture of affection. "Daft git."

Sherlock nodded and turned to walk to his bedroom before stopping and grabbing John's hand; the pair looked at one another for a brief moment until Sherlock kissed John softly. He desperately attempted to include all of his feelings and hopes into the kiss which was returned by John's talented and eager tongue. They pulled away and stared hopelessly at one another.

"Clothes." John smiled as he pecked Sherlock on the lips and walked towards the bathroom, knowing he would need to deal with his erection immediately.

* * *

"You're not freaking out," Sherlock said as he looked over at John tucking into his pasta.

"Nope," John shrugged.

"But you're not gay…" Sherlock trailed off.

"Nope," John laughed.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stared at John; the doctor was used to his intense scrutiny by now so continued eating whilst Sherlock looked for whatever it was that he was searching for.

"You've been with a man," Sherlock whispered.

"Yes," John shrugged.

"In the army," Sherlock continued, "oh… numerous men."

"Not numerous exactly," John smiled. "You make me sound like a man-whore."

"But you were adamant that you weren’t gay," Sherlock frowned. "I don’t understand."

John thought for a moment and put down his fork, looking over at his best friend.

"Sexuality isn’t black and white, it's fluid," he attempted to explain. "I prefer women but I have had attractions to men in the past."

"I see," Sherlock nodded, feeling slightly more secure in the knowledge that John wasn’t having a sexual crisis over their new found…. _ whatever it was. _

"What about you?" John asked, hoping to understand more on Sherlock's sexuality and preferences.

"Me?" Sherlock asked puzzled. "Not much to tell, really."

"I'm intrigued," John smiled.

Sherlock chewed and swallowed his food and took a sip of wine before speaking. "I realised I was attracted to boys when I was around 10 years old. Our gardener had a son around my age, he was called Richard and we used to play together and investigate the grounds," Sherlock smiled thinly. "One day we were sitting by the stream in the summer catching insects when he fell into the water. We both giggled and he stood up but he was wearing a white shirt which went transparent. I found myself staring at his visible nipples."

John nodded and took a drink of his wine as he listened.

"Mycroft walked over to tell us that dinner was ready and noticed the way I looked at the boy, he was 17 and already at college. He was visiting and decided that it was time to give me  _ the talk. _ ”

"I wish I could have seen that," John laughed.

Sherlock chuckled and rolled his eyes. "He gave me the basics; sperm meets egg, baby is gestated, baby comes from vagina," Sherlock gestured with his hand. "I insisted I wouldn’t be having children and Mycroft nodded and began telling me about homosexual relationships."

"Is Mycroft…?" John trailed off.

"I don’t think he knows himself," Sherlock laughed. "I expect he’d start a nuclear war rather than a relationship."

John chuckled and continued eating as he prompted Sherlock to continue. "And your dad and the erm… thing?"

"Oh that," Sherlock blushed slightly. "I was 14 and the gardener's son Richard was helping his father in the orchard which was overlooked by my bedroom window. He had taken off his shirt and was helping to cut down a dead tree."

Sherlock's mind was transported back to the moment; he was standing looking out of the large windows of his bedroom down at the slightly pink and sunburnt back of his crush. He watched as Richard twisted his back to take a strike with the axe, his muscles flexing against pale skin and his sweat damp hair moved in the breeze.

"I realised I was...." Sherlock looked around realising that they weren't alone, "...affected."

"I see." John nodded his understanding.

"So I did what my body wanted me to do; I undressed and took myself in hand," Sherlock blushed red, "and as I was about to reach completion, one of the maids entered my bedroom."

John winced for teenage Sherlock; he himself had been interrupted a few times as a teenager, but thankfully the experience hadn’t traumatised him as much as it had the detective.

"She squeaked and slammed the door behind her. I put myself away and attempted to right the situation but by then she had already informed Mummy who told Daddy who came to find me," Sherlock cringed. "He told me that I shouldn’t do that."

"And you didn't from that moment?" John asked.

"No. Not on purpose," Sherlock shrugged. "A few incidents during the night but nothing intentional."

"Why did your father bring up the cage?" John asked confused. "That's not a regular occurrence."

"He had heard stories from his own father who had heard them from his and so on." Sherlock spooned some food into his mouth and chewed slowly. "His thoughts were extremely Victorian on the subject, so he decided to solve the issue with Victorian methods. He heard of cages and mentioned them to both me and Mycroft; Mycroft took the opportunity immediately and was measured up that week whereas I felt I could control my transport."

"And you managed from 14 to 37?" John asked unbelievingly.

"It's rather simple when you train your mind," Sherlock shrugged absently. "I didn't expect to have such an interesting reaction to your stimuli.”

John sat for a moment silently before grinning wickedly. "I’d like to see if I can untrain your mind completely. I want to unravel you until you can’t even remember your own name."

Sherlock had been taking a drink of wine and choked as John spoke; patting his chest he smiled coyly and lifted his eyes to John. "I think I’d like that."

Sherlock paid the bill and allowed John to link his arm through his own as they left Angelo’s with big smiles; both men were excited to return back to the flat and continue their new  _ liaison  _ together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I come bearing smut and sweet fluff!

The pair reached the flat and climbed the stairs; Sherlock stood nervously, swaying on the balls of his feet as he looked over at John taking off his coat and shoes.

"Sherlock, relax," John laughed softly. "There's no rush to do anything."

"I know that." Sherlock attempted to sound confident but sounded vulnerable and childlike.

"Right, do you want to watch telly and we’ll have a cuddle and a kiss?" John asked.

Sherlock frowned and pouted. "I'm not a child. I don’t need cuddling."

"Fine," John shrugged as he went to walk to his room.

"No, wait!" Sherlock shouted before blushing. "I want to."

"Then just say," John smiled as he walked back to the sofa and sat down with his arm stretched over the back of the cushions. "Come here then."

Sherlock nodded and took off his coat and shoes before snuggling down in the gap beside John and the arm of the sofa. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's shoulder and kissed his head. "See, that's nice."

"Mmhmm," Sherlock agreed as his hair tickled John's cheek.

John turned himself so he was looking over at his friend, his spare hand moving to brush through Sherlock's curls before he pressed their lips together softly. Sherlock stiffened and squeaked slightly before relaxing into the kiss and following John's movements, his lips opening a fraction to allow John to lick along his plump lower lip and then explore into his mouth.

Tightening his hold on the side of Sherlock's head, John smiled into the kiss and nuzzled Sherlock's nose to encourage him to move and follow his lead; the detective quickly gathered his wits and kissed back, his own tongue flicking into John's mouth to taste his blogger intimately.

John continued to hold Sherlock as he moved themselves to a horizontal position, Sherlock and John fitting themselves onto the slim sofa by turning slightly to their sides and wrapping their calves around one another in an attempt to touch as much of each other as possible. Sherlock could feel himself hard in his trousers, pushing against the similar bulge of John's denim; he rutted himself in small circles as he groaned and whined into the kiss.

"Slow down," John insisted as he stroked Sherlock's curls from his face. "We have time."

"I…" Sherlock started before trailing off as John placed soft kisses along his cheekbone and jawline. "John..."

"Shh," John smiled. "It's okay. Would you feel more comfortable in bed?"

Sherlock nodded and moved to stand up, only to almost tip John off the edge of the sofa; the doctor held on tightly and giggled nervously.

"Sherlock!"

"Sorry," the detective blushed, watching John right himself and stand up to help Sherlock to his feet.

"Your room or mine?" John asked casually.

"Yours," Sherlock nodded as he felt John entwine their fingers together softly before leading him towards the privacy of the bedroom, stopping only to lock the door and turn off the lights on the way.

* * *

Both men stripped to their underwear and climbed on top of the covers side by side; John put his arm underneath Sherlock's head and cushioned his neck as he turned the detective to the side to kiss him once more. "Better?"

"Yes," Sherlock admitted as he ran his fingers over John's chest. "I've never seen you bare and this close before."

"Would you like to explore?" John asked.

In truth, he was worried that Sherlock might be scared of them moving too fast and by letting the younger man take the lead, John's stress levels reduced.

"May I?" Sherlock asked surprised as he sat up onto his bum and trailed his long fingers down John's throat and clavicle, stopping as he reached the star shaped scar.

"It’s okay," John nodded. "You can touch it."

Sherlock bit his lip as he ran his fingers over the raised skin of John's scar. John couldn’t actually feel the sensation due to the scar tissue which ran through his nerves and skin, but it was enough to be able to feel Sherlock's heat so close to him; to see the perfect look of exploration on Sherlock's face as he poked and prodded the scar which brought John to him years before.

"Does it hurt?" Sherlock asked softly.

"No. It doesn’t feel like anything really." John shrugged as he looked down. "I can’t feel it."

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement before skimming his fingers around the outer edge. "Can you feel that?"

"A little," John smiled.

Sherlock hummed a little and then lowered his head to run his tongue around the edge; he could taste John under his lips much more strongly than when he had kissed his neck. Sherlock could taste the remnants of John's deodorant and soap, their washing powder and John’s own unique scent on his tongue as he licked and lapped at the raised skin. John smiled and inhaled sharply as Sherlock nipped the skin with his teeth. 

"Is that okay?"

"Mmmmm," John groaned. "Very much so."

"Have any of your ex’s done this?" Sherlock asked.

"You know it’s bad form to ask about ex partners in bed?" John laughed before stopping when he saw Sherlock's face fall. "I was joking."

"Oh," Sherlock attempted a smile but it was forced.

"No. Nobody has ever touched it like this. The only time someone did was when they accidently touched it when grabbing my shoulder and she tensed up," John admitted.

"She was an idiot," Sherlock spat venomously. "I'm glad I can be the first to do this."

John smiled and nodded. "So am I."

Sherlock flushed and moved his fingers to stroke through the barely there hairs which covered John's chest; he catalogued each one and moved to kiss down the space between both pectorals until he reached John's navel, where he licked around the space and returned to the doctor’s neck and throat.

"God," John grumbled, feeling the first drops of precum flooding his underwear.

"Good ‘God’ or bad ‘God’?" Sherlock asked worried.

"Good. Very good," John whispered. "Kiss me again?"

Sherlock did as he was told and snogged John passionately, their tongues meeting and dancing in perfect synchronicity as John stroked through Sherlock's hair once more.

"You keep doing that," Sherlock commented.

"I know. I love your curls," John smiled as he sucked on Sherlock's lower lip.

Sherlock kissed his way from John's lips to his neck, and then over his shoulder until he reached the two erect nubs of his nipples. He looked up at John as if to seek permission, before wrapping his lips around the sensitive flesh, watching as John arched and gasped as the heat enveloped him and caused sparks of pleasure to ignite up his spine and more precum to leak into his pants.

"You're sensitive," Sherlock laughed as he watched John return his hips to the bed.

"Yes," John agreed with a grin.

Sherlock stored that information away and moved to the other side of John's chest, licking and sucking the nub whilst using his long and flexible fingers to continue coaxing the left nipple. John moaned and held Sherlock's head close to his chest as he lapped and nibbled the flesh in his warm mouth, his lips pulled into a smile.

"I think I'm going to explode if I don’t do something about this," John mumbled gesturing to his aching cock.

"Can I watch?" Sherlock asked carefully as John nodded and lifted his hips to pull down his underwear, showing himself to Sherlock fully for the first time.

Sherlock swore under his breath in a language John didn't understand, as he watched the thick shaft of John's cock emerge from the fabric. John was of average size but thicker than Sherlock had ever seen outside of porn; Sherlock was sure that he wouldn’t be able to fit his hand around John if he tried.

"It's not that big," John rolled his eyes, making Sherlock realise he’d been speaking out loud.

John was uncut; his foreskin completely retracted back to show the dusky pink tip which was shiny with pre-ejaculate. His testicles hung low beneath his shaft and swung with each movement and were covered with dark blond curled hairs which surrounded John's genitals and his upper thighs.

"Sherlock?" John smiled, his eyes closed as his hand wrapped around his dick. "Stop staring."

"Oh… sorry," Sherlock blushed, his eyes moving to focus on John's hands and flickering up to his face, watching enraptured as he viewed the changes in John's expression as he finally stopped the ache in his cock.

The younger man moved forward and bent at the waist until he could extend his tongue and take a swipe across the leaking tip, tasting the precum which had gathered there and surprising John who groaned and gasped, stilling his hand as he opened his eyes and stared down.

"Did I do it wrong?" Sherlock panicked.

"God no. It felt amazing," John groaned as he flicked his wrist.

Sherlock gained confidence and decided to do more; he lapped and sucked at the exposed crown, chasing the drips of precum with his tongue as they fell from the slit on John's head. The doctor growled and arched his back as his other hand moved to pinch his nipple whilst Sherlock explored with his hot tongue.

"T-Touch my balls, please," John begged as Sherlock moved his hand to cup and caress John's sac whilst still attempting to create a rhythm with his mouth; John used his hand to milk out the precum which was then lapped away by Sherlock's talented tongue. The detective moved his fingers down until he was against John's perineum with one hand whilst cupping his bollocks with the other. "Is this okay?"

"Fuck, Sherlock," John groaned, his eyes tightly shut and his body tight like Sherlock's violin bow strings. "It's amazing."

Sherlock grinned and focussed his gaze on John's face, watching him begin to grimace and scrunch his eyes closed tighter. "Sh-Sherlock..."

The younger man continued, sucking harder and stroking as effectively as he could whilst maintaining his view of John's orgasm face; he desperately wanted to see John climax. He got his wish moments later when John moved the hand from his nipple to grab Sherlock's curls tightly and pull him away from his cock with a wail.

"Oh God,  _ oh fuck Sherlock,  _ I'm going to cum… I'm going to…. Ohhh!"

Sherlock winced at the pain in his hair follicles but looked between John's face and cock as he watched the older man erupt with pleasure; shot after shot of pearly cum covered his stomach and fist as he keened and bucked through his climax, Sherlock's name on his lips as he desperately attempted to prolong his pleasure.

John began to giggle and covered his face with his clean hand after letting go of Sherlock's curls. "Fucking hell."

"Why are you laughing?" Sherlock frowned. "Did I do it wrong?"

"Christ, no," John continued to laugh. "That was the best orgasm I've ever had."

Sherlock blushed and rolled his eyes. "You don’t need to flatter me."

"No, seriously Sherlock," John stared, his eyes screaming that he was telling the truth. "It was amazing."

Sherlock trailed his fingers through the cooling cum on John's stomach and smiled as he put a digit into his mouth tasting the slightly bitter taste. "Hmmm."

"What?" John groaned. "Are you upset we didn't get it in a test tube?"

"No, of course not," Sherlock chuckled. "It's just one more bodily fluid to collect."

"Eurgh," John groaned and let his head fall back on the pillow. "You're such a git."

* * *

John cleaned himself up with a pair of his pants before grabbing Sherlock and kissing him passionately. "Now, how should we deal with yours?"

"I… I don"t mind," Sherlock shrugged. "I have no preference."

"Well, I can suck you off," John began, watching Sherlock blush at the crude term, "or use my hand, or you could do it and I'll watch, or if you really wanted, you could fuck my thighs."

"That one," Sherlock insisted. "The last one."

"Mmmmm okay," John nodded as he kissed Sherlock again. "We’ll need to change position."

Sherlock watched silently as John turned himself onto his front and pulled himself onto all fours before dipping his hand into his top drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube.

"Oh, I should have said," John blushed, "I'm totally clean but I can do another blood test if you like?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I am too. Haven’t used since my last test and never had sex so…" he trailed off.

"Good," John nodded. "Good."

Lowering his head to the pillow, he supported himself on his good shoulder as he reached beneath him and slicked up his thighs with the lube, shivering slightly at the chilly feeling on his skin.

"I don’t know what I'm doing," Sherlock admitted nervously.

"In a minute I'm going to put my legs together," John started, "then you can push yourself in between my thighs and just thrust until you finish."

Sherlock blushed crimson and nodded as he slowly stripped his pants and cupped his genitals, suddenly shy despite the fact John had seen him twice before.

"Don’t be like that," John soothed as he reached back for Sherlock's hand. "It's okay."

John finished slicking himself and returned to his original position as he looked over his shoulder with a supportive smile. "Whenever you're ready."

The younger man took a deep and calming breath before walking on his knees to fit between John's legs. He ran his hands over John's fleshy arse and groaned as his cock made contact with the sticky skin; he pushed harder and managed to envelop himself in between John's thighs, gasping as the hot, wet heat sheathed him.

"Ooh," he grumbled as he felt the first stuttered thrust take his breath away. "Oh..."

"Just do what your body wants," John soothed. "Take your pleasure from me, Sherlock."

Sherlock gripped John's bum cheeks and thrust forcefully, groaning at the sensation as he pulled out and thrust again. His hands massaged his best friend’s buttocks and he gasped when he looked down in time to see John's hole being bared to his view for the first time. Sherlock trailed his fingers over John's twitching hole and listened to John sigh and gasp. "Mmm, Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock croaked, "oh, John."

"That's it, love," John smiled as he thrust his hips back, giving the detective more friction. "Fuck me."

Sherlock lost himself in pleasure and noise as his orgasm burst from him in an almost painful wave of dizzying bliss. He thrust a final time and coated the inside of John's legs and his cock with a spray of warm cum, whilst he shuddered and fell forward until his forehead rested between John's shoulder blades. Each movement and breath caused another spasm of pleasure through his wracked body and forced him to shudder as his head spun wildly.

"You okay there?" John smiled caringly over his shoulder.

Sherlock tried to vocalise his pleasure but found the only sound which escaped was that similar to whale noise; John knit his eyebrows together and laughed as Sherlock puffed huffs of air against his skin as he slowly pieced together his mind once more.

"Have I made you lose the ability to think yet?" John asked.

"Not quite," Sherlock mumbled. "Almost."

"Damnit," John laughed softly. "I will next time, I promise."

* * *

After cleaning themselves up, the two men cuddled on John's bed; Sherlock lay in the circle of John's arms as John nuzzled and softly kissed Sherlock's head.

"John?" Sherlock whispered.

"Hmm?" John replied drowsily.

"I like when you call me love," Sherlock mumbled shyly.

"Good," John replied.

"But I think I'll just call you John," Sherlock insisted. "If that's okay."

"No. You must call me a pet name!" John laughed. "Snookums."

"Oh God," Sherlock cringed.

"Or Lovepuff."

"No."

"Babykins?"

"I've made a mistake."

"Gooeybear?"

"We’re no longer friends."

"Snuggledove."

"I'm going to sleep."

The two men giggled childishly together as they climbed under the covers and kissed tenderly.

"Night, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut!
> 
> The book John's reading is real. It's by Scott Sigler and called Infected. It's brilliant, definitely worth a read

"I've been thinking of anal penetration," Sherlock said from his seat at the kitchen table. "Oh… Lestrade, when did you get here?"

* * *

 

**An hour before**

Lestrade knocked on the door to Baker Street, and was let in by Mrs Hudson who gave the DI a soft kiss on the cheek and a mothering look. "You've been smoking again."

"I know," Lestrade groaned. "Rough few weeks with cases and the ex."

"Is she still making things difficult?" Mrs H clucked. "You know there's a flat here if you need it, dear."

Lestrade looked down at his adopted mother (He’d met her during one of the first cases he had used Sherlock on and she had immediately taken to him. Cooking him meals, fixing his clothing and generally caring for him) with a soft smile and kissed her cheek. "You're too good to me."

"Codswallop," Mrs Hudson flushed. "Somebody needs to look after you boys."

"Are they in?" Greg nodded upstairs.

"Yes, I heard Sherlock shouting an hour or so ago," Mrs Hudson grimaced.

Greg smiled and began to walk up the stairs; John heard him and opened the door and invited the DI inside.

"You won’t get much sense from him I'm afraid." John nodded towards Sherlock who was sitting experimenting at the kitchen table. "Want a cuppa?"

"Oh yes, please, I’d kill for one," Greg groaned. "I needed to get out of the yard. Anderson and Donovan are having another domestic in the conference room. They seem to think it's acceptable to bring drama into the office at every opportunity."

"Better than anal in the cupboard," John laughed, stopping himself when he saw the look on Greg’s face. "Oh shit, you didn't know?"

"No," Greg grimaced. "I should probably do something about that… but I must admit, the thought of bringing it up in conversation is horrific."

John laughed heartily and handed Greg his own mug (Sherlock had stolen it from the Yard during one of Greg’s annoying moments apparently) before the pair sat opposite one another on the chairs.

"So, how’re you?" Greg asked, suddenly realising that they had turned into two middle aged women talking and drinking tea.

The pair sat talking for a while, discussing football and cases before Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Well, I should say congratulations too, I suppose." He ran a hand through his hair. "You and him finally got it together?"

"How did you…" John trailed off before nodding. "Detective Inspector."

"Regardless of what his highness thinks, I'm actually not that bad at my job." Greg laughed. "Honestly mate, I'm happy for you."

"Cheers," John smiled as he looked over at Sherlock who was still in his own world. "I'll tell you something though, his childhood was fucking weird."

"Oh?" Greg asked as he took a sip of his tea.

John looked up at Sherlock and lowered his voice, "He was told that if he had an orgasm, he would use up all his sperm."

Greg snorted a laugh and shook his head. "Christ."

"So from the age of 14 to last week, he hadn"t… you know," John gestured crudely.

"Poor lad," Lestrade gasped. "No wonder he was so prickly."

John laughed and sat back in his seat. "So, what about you and yours?"

The pair sat chatting for a while until John had to refill their tea before returning to his seat and talking some more; John and Greg had found themselves getting closer as friends in the years that they had worked together, and often met for drinks alone in order to escape Sherlock.

"I've been thinking of anal penetration," Sherlock said from his seat at the kitchen table. "Oh… Lestrade, when did you get here?"

John blushed and groaned as Greg turned his head slowly and raised an eyebrow. "Alright, mate. Been here about an hour now," he laughed. "Is that my cue to leave?"

"I didn't mean this second," Sherlock flushed and mumbled, "Never mind."

Greg looked back at John and laughed as he took in the doctor’s red and embarrassed face. "Relax. Although, that's the second time anal has been mentioned today. I'm getting a complex that everyone else is getting action but me."

"If it helps, Mycroft is getting much, much less than you," John quipped, watching Sherlock raise an eyebrow from behind Greg.

"It doesn’t." Greg grimaced as he put down his cup. "Well, I suppose I better get back to work. See ya."

John waved Greg off and rolled his eyes when Sherlock shouted, "Send me some cases!" before the door was closed and the two men were alone once more.

"You should be more careful," John smiled as Sherlock came to sit on his knee and kiss him softly. "You don’t want people knowing what we’re doing here."

"I couldn’t care any less," Sherlock insisted as he kissed John and ran his hands over his hair. "I don’t care who knows."

The two indulged in long and passionate kisses before John nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's cheek. "So, what about anal penetration?"

Sherlock flushed and lowered his eyes. "I was curious."

"Go on," John coaxed, "you can tell me anything, you know that, I won’t laugh."

"I heard it was pleasurable," Sherlock shrugged, "and I've never… not even by myself…" he trailed off and picked at his fingernails.

"If it's something you want to try, we can do it but only if you really want it and don’t feel like you're rushing," John insisted as he took Sherlock's hand in his own. "And we’ll need to prepare you first."

Sherlock grimaced but nodded as John went into graphic detail about the cleaning ritual he would need to endure.

* * *

John was curled up in his chair by the fire, reading his latest sci-fi book when Sherlock re-emerged from the bathroom with a slight flush on his cheeks. John averted his eyes and smiled as he heard Sherlock clatter around his bedroom and dress in his pyjamas before returning to the living room.

"That was unpleasant," Sherlock grumbled.

"Not as unpleasant as the clean-up if it isn’t done," John nodded.

Sherlock scrunched up his nose and gestured to the book. "What’s it about?"

"Triangles from space," John smiled. "They infect a person and turn them into killers before the triangles hatch and create a portal to their planet."

"Sounds… scientifically inaccurate." Sherlock smiled. "Can you put it down so we can have an early night or do you want to finish reading?"

"Hmmm, killer triangles from space or a beautiful man in my bed?... decisions, decisions," John laughed. "Come on."

The pair walked to John's bedroom, undressed and climbed onto the bed whilst sharing tender kisses; John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair who sighed and pushed himself into the palm of John's hand as both men felt themselves reacting, their hard cocks making themselves known.

"Lay back," John whispered, determined to make Sherlock lose control of his massive mind tonight. He stroked his hands down the pale skin of his lover (lover? Is that what they are now?) from shoulder to hip before rubbing across the flat plane of Sherlock's stomach and over his navel.

"Relax, but tell me if you want me to stop," John whispered as he kissed along the slight trail of hair from navel to crotch, coming face to face with Sherlock's cock up close for the first time. The scent of soap and Sherlock almost overwhelmed John as he nuzzled his nose into the line between hip and thigh, scenting Sherlock's skin as he kissed and licked down the top of the fleshy leg.

Sherlock's cock was long but thin; a perfect specimen beautifully matched to its owners build. The tight foreskin gripped his tip tightly as a bead of precum oozed from the slit and dripped its way down the tight shaft to be trapped at the base, a base which was now almost completely hairless.

"Sherlock?" John smiled. "Did you shave your pubic hair?"

"I noticed mine was rather… messy compared to yours," the detective whispered shyly. "Is it okay?"

"Mmm," John hummed and kissed his way in from the outer edge of the thigh until he was millimetres away from Sherlock's bollocks. Sherlock was barely holding himself together with trepidation for his first ever blowjob when John decided to stop teasing; he licked a stripe from base to tip and ran his tongue around the sensitive glans and back down again.

"Oh fuck, John I…" Sherlock started before gripping the bed and coming over his stomach.

John huffed a surprise sound and looked up at Sherlock who was wide eyed and bright red with embarrassment. The detective hid his face in his large hands and cringed. "I'm so sorry."

"That… was unbelievably sexy," John groaned as he kissed Sherlock's thigh. "My God."

Sherlock lifted a hand from his face and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I did this," John whispered as he stroked his fingers through Sherlock's cooling semen. "A week ago you wouldn’t orgasm, then you couldn’t and now, with a small amount of my touch, you're coming immediately," he groaned. "God, that's hot."

"You really think so?" Sherlock asked, scanning John's face for deception but finding none.

"God, yes," John nodded as he grabbed his pants and wiped Sherlock's stomach. "But don’t think for one second you're finished yet."

"But I orgasmed," Sherlock added confused.

"You can still think, I promised to blow your mind," John chuckled. "Lay on your side."

* * *

Sherlock frowned but followed instructions and shuffled onto his side; John positioned him correctly with one leg straight and the other folded up to his chest, showing his most intimate area to John for the first time.

"Can I?" John asked, his voice croaky and desperate as he took in the sight of Sherlock splayed out like a Greek god. Sherlock nodded, watching as John grinned.

The doctor shuffled down the bed and laid on his front as he brought his face close to Sherlock's arse; with one swift lick, he lapped at Sherlock's virgin opening and caused the younger man to mewl with delight and embarrassment. "John!"

"You're clean," John grumbled as he licked and caressed the opening with his tongue, occasionally moving to tongue at Sherlock's balls but always returning to the puckered hole. Sherlock had never felt bliss like he felt when John's tongue touched his intimate area, shivers wracking his body and his eyes glazing over as he grabbed the bedding tightly. 

Despite only having an orgasm moments before, he could feel his cock already desperately trying to harden; a sight which was not ignored by John who smiled and hummed around the sensitive skin causing Sherlock to make a small "eep" noise.

John moved to wipe away the excess spit from his chin, only to be stopped by Sherlock wailing at the loss of contact and moving his hand to grab John's head, pushing it back between his open cheeks. He groaned when he felt John's tongue lap at his rim and slowly, gently push inside.

"John," Sherlock mumbled wantonly, his hands curled into John's hair tightly. "God."

John smiled and pointed his tongue to press more inside, his dominant hand moving to cup and caress Sherlock's cock whilst the other held his hip softly in a calming gesture. John started a slow and simple rhythm with his hand around Sherlock's shaft, stroking it until it was fully hard and twitching in his hand. He flicked his wrist and quickened his pace with his tongue until Sherlock was mewling and desperately crying out for more, begging and pleading for John to make him cum again. The doctor had never known Sherlock to be so vocal but suddenly it was though a dam had been opened and noises, moans and pleading words rushed forth.

"I'm going to put my finger in now, okay?" John soothed, hoping that by talking Sherlock through the motions it wouldn’t startle him too much.

"Anything John, please," Sherlock nodded, "please."

John pulled away and wiped his mouth with his hand before grabbing the lube and slicking up his fingers, leaving Sherlock's cock to bob and twitch against his thigh. It felt strange for John to have lube directly on his skin rather than through latex, but he didn't want there to be any barriers between him and Sherlock; he inhaled deeply to calm and steady himself before rubbing soft circles around Sherlock's hole.

"Breathe steady," John insisted as he slowly moved one finger inside until he was a knuckle deep. He could feel the tight, wet heat around his finger as Sherlock slowly opened for him a millimetre at a time.

"Oooh," Sherlock groaned, attempting to look down at his arse but unable to see over his own hip which was in the way.

John smiled and pressed further until he was almost fully sheathed inside Sherlock for the first time; he stilled his movements and calmed his breathing, aware that he was already on edge just from touching Sherlock. John waited until Sherlock had opened his eyes before he pulled out his finger slowly and thrust back inside, cricking it perfectly to touch Sherlock's prostate.

The detective almost hit the roof as the sensations fizzed around his body; he wailed and looked down at John in wonder. "What the hell was that?"

"Prostate, your special spot," John smiled as he repeated the movement and watched Sherlock's eyes roll back. "It can sometimes be too much, tell me if you want me to stop."

Sherlock opened his eyes wide and glared at John. "Don’t you dare."

The older man chuckled and stroked his finger over the bundle of nerves whilst doing a quick medical check (everything was fine) as he stroked one side, then the other and finally circled around the entire spot.

"John, I feel like I need to pee," Sherlock whispered nervously.

"Relax love, that's normal," John nodded as he slowly moved his finger in and out. "Can I put another in?"

Sherlock nodded and John removed his finger before re-slicking his hand and adding two into the tight heat. Sherlock winced and hissed slightly as he was stretched open but was soon groaning and mumbling incoherently whilst John poked and prodded at his prostate.

"Lay on your back," John whispered as he helped Sherlock change position until the younger man was lying flat with his cock bobbing against his stomach.

John returned his fingers inside Sherlock and shuffled further to lick and suck at the tip of Sherlock's dick; the extra stimulation caused another flurry of groans and whimpers to escape Sherlock as John sucked on his tip and lapped at the glans. He opened and closed his fingers to scissor the detective open as his tongue focussed on collecting as much precum as possible.

"More," the younger man begged, "please," as his hips began rocking back and forth, impaling himself onto John's fingers and forcing more of his cock into John's mouth.

John opened his mouth wide and swallowed as much of Sherlock down as he possibly could, gagging when the tip touched his sensitive soft palate and pulling away before trying again. Sherlock was almost incoherent with pleasure, babbling nonsense to himself as John teased his tip with his tongue whilst creating suction on his shaft and continuing to finger his hole.

Sherlock had never felt pleasure like the feelings rushing through his body; he attempted to form logical thoughts or speak to John but found that his brain refused to participate. Desperate coo’s and whimpers left his mouth unknowingly as he thrust his hips harder and faster, charging at his second orgasm of the night.

"That's it," John soothed, his voice gravelly and wanton. "Show me."

Sherlock grabbed the bedding and arched his back as he screamed through his climax; he was vaguely aware of the wet sensation covering his stomach but the pleasure was too intense to focus, he felt like he was floating above himself as he gasped and cried out whilst gripping the mattress tight.

John removed his fingers and moved away from Sherlock's cock before realising that Sherlock wasn’t speaking or breathing normally; slightly worried he tapped Sherlock's shoulder and whispered his name.

"Gnngmmm," Sherlock attempted before closing his eyes.

"Are you alive there?" John smiled, his hand moving to cup his own cock as he stroked himself idly.

"Myyabbb," was the only response he received. He couldn’t translate what the word was supposed to be so took it as a positive.

"I need to clean you up, love," John soothed as he ran his clean hand over Sherlock's cheekbone and kissed his lips softly. "Just stay still."

"Mmnn," Sherlock mumbled as his eyes remained closed but a smile covered his lips.

John moved to the bathroom and stroked himself to a satisfying and intense orgasm in a matter of seconds; he came into toilet tissue and flushed it away before grabbing a wet towel and a glass of water, returning to Sherlock and cleaning him quickly.

"Come on, you lump," John smiled as he helped Sherlock sit up. "Take a drink for me."

Sherlock didn't try to fight as John held the glass to his lips and helped him take small sips, before lowering him back to the bed and cuddling up beside him.

"Sleep now," John smiled as he kissed Sherlock softly.

"Nnmmgggff," Sherlock mumbled before he started to snore lightly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! 
> 
> Has a little bit of Sherlock being out of it (painkillers and sedatives due to a dislocated shoulder) meaning lots of confessions, humour and embarrassment for John. Tiny hint of vomit but again, nothing graphic or disgusting. 
> 
> RIDICULOUS AMOUNTS OF FLUFF AND SMUT 
> 
> Thank you for every comment, kudos and subscription. I love every one!

"Jawwwwwwn?" Sherlock shouted from the back of the ambulance. "Where is he? Where have you taken my Jawn?!"

Lestrade rolled his eyes and attempted to cover Sherlock with the orange shock blanket once more, only to end up with a flailing and angry man eye to eye with him. "He better not be dead, Lestrade. If he’s dead… I'll… well… I will NOT be happy."

Greg nodded to the paramedics who increased the sedative flowing through Sherlock's veins until the younger man made a soft "oh" noise and fell backwards onto the bed. "thith ithn’t over!"

Hearing Sherlock lisp was strangely endearing and pulled on Greg’s heartstrings a little as he jumped from the ambulance and walked to where John was being checked over. "How are you?"

"Little sore," John shrugged, "but Sherlock took the worst of it, how is he?"

"Lisping, angry and shouting abuse," Greg smiled. "He’s screaming for you."

John rolled his eyes and slapped Greg on the shoulder as he walked to the ambulance, hearing Sherlock ranting and raving despite the medication pumping through his body.

"When my Jawn gets here, you'll know about it! He’s a soldier… not just a soldier but a soldier doctor! A doctor soldier do you understand?!"

"They get it," John chuckled as he climbed into the ambulance and sat beside Sherlock in the bucket seat. "Shh now, it’s okay."

"Jawwwwn," Sherlock drawled excitedly and attempted to leap from the bed. "I missed you."

"You're going to hurt your shoulder more if you don’t settle down," John insisted as he helped Sherlock back onto the bed.

"He’s my boyfriend. We’re in love. I love him immensely," Sherlock informed the paramedics who looked on amused at the sight.

"I'm not… not technically his boyfriend," John grimaced.

"He anally penetrates me," Sherlock continued, seemingly unaware that John's face had turned almost purple with shame.

"Sherlock!" the doctor hissed. "Shut up!"

"Why? It's true," Sherlock continued. "We’ve not had full penetrative sex yet, but I assume that will follow soon. The natural progression of a relationship makes the assumption valid."

"Kill me now," John muttered under his breath. "Sherlock, if you don’t shut up, I'm going to put a pillow over your head and be done with it."

* * *

The men had been chasing a suspect and ran through an alleyway in order to cut him off; they hadn’t counted on a van driver pulling out exactly as they exited the alley. John had managed to stop and only slightly bump himself against the bonnet whereas Sherlock was running harder and faster; he bounced from the bonnet and skidded across the floor. Thankful for Sherlock's long coat which had protected him from worse injury and gravel rash, John had checked his friend over and realised he had a dislocated shoulder but nothing worse; the driver was mortified and more upset than Sherlock who had insisted that he wanted to continue the chase, only stopping when John prodded his sore shoulder and made him cry out. The ambulance and Lestrade arrived soon after.

The pair sat in the hospital together as Sherlock was taken to have his shoulder x-rayed and popped back into place. John realised that he would need to have a talk with Sherlock regarding their relationship and didn't relish the thought what-so-ever.

* * *

The two men exited Mycroft’s governmental car, which had been sent to pick them up from the hospital, when it reached Baker Street. They climbed the stairs slowly and carefully; Sherlock was still a little out of it with the pain medication and sedative causing him to make small missteps and fall back onto John with a giggle.

"Are you going to have sex with me, lover?" Sherlock purred, attempting his best sexy voice.

"No," John insisted. "I'm going to throw you into bed, put the kettle on and brood."

"Brooding is  _ my  _ thing!" Sherlock pouted. "You can’t pull it off as good as me; I have the cheekbones," he smiled as he sucked in his cheeks and looked down at John. "See?"

"God, you're annoying," John laughed as he finally made it up to the flat, and walked Sherlock backwards to his own bedroom which hadn’t been used for a while due to them sharing a bed every night. Sherlock grumbled as John helped him undress and tipped him unceremoniously into the bedding, pulling the duvet over him and keeping him down with his best Captain glare.

"Sleep," he ordered.

"Jawn… My Jawn," Sherlock muttered as he nuzzled against the pillow. "My boyfriend Jawn."

"Christ," John groaned as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

John wasn’t opposed to having a relationship with Sherlock; they were practically a married couple anyway. John did the washing and the cooking, the laundry and the bill paying whereas Sherlock…well… he experimented on corpses in the kitchen (maybe the analogy wasn’t the best) but now with the added intimacy they were pretty much already an item.

He just didn't like the idea of the ‘I told you so’s’ from his colleagues and the media. John Watson  _ confirmed bachelor  _ was now in a relationship with his flatmate would make the front pages of the tabloids and he didn't want the stress and hassle, but he also didn't want to make Sherlock feel like shit by hiding it. 

John sat by the fire and thought until he heard a strange choking sound coming from Sherlock's bedroom.

Standing quickly he ignored the twinge in his shoulder and rushed to Sherlock's bedroom where he found the detective being sick and coughing pitifully.

"Oh love," John soothed as he set about cleaning Sherlock up and pulling his hair back until he was sure Sherlock had finished. "Is it all out?"

Sherlock nodded pathetically and whimpered when John helped him to stand and began stripping him of his clothes, leaving them on the filthy sheets before walking Sherlock into the bathroom to shower. The detective followed passively as John helped him clean himself up before sitting him on the toilet lid whilst he stripped the bed and put the soiled linens into the washing machine.

"I remember when it was you doing this for me," John rolled his eyes comically, "listening to me breathing and cataloguing my hair."

Sherlock gave a weak smile as John bundled him up in his dressing gown before taking him upstairs to John's bedroom. Sherlock snuggled under the duvet and listened as John wandered around the flat collecting things he would need before returning with water, the same plastic bucket which Sherlock had once provided and some anti-sickness tablets.

"It's probably just the shock and the tablets," John soothed, his fingers stroking Sherlock's curls.

"Hmm," Sherlock mumbled before falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

John awoke to the sensation of fingers stroking his face and startled slightly before relaxing into Sherlock's embrace. "Mo’nin."

"Hi," Sherlock smiled. "I… I have a feeling I may have to apologise."

"Why?" John asked as he looked up from bleary and sleepy eyes.

"I said some things," Sherlock blushed, "to some people."

"You remember?" John asked suddenly awake.

"Mhmm," Sherlock grimaced. "I remember most of the incident."

John sat up and looked over at Sherlock who looked so broken and childlike that John immediately wrapped his arms around the younger man. "It’s okay. We just need to clarify some things."

Sherlock nodded and bit his lip. "Will you start?"

John smiled and ran a finger across Sherlock's cheekbone. "I want to be your boyfriend."

"Oh…erm… that wasn’t… I didn't expect that as an opener," Sherlock scrabbled for words. "You do?"

"We’re practically married as it is," John rolled his eyes. "And you are correct, I do technically anally penetrate you."

Sherlock made a croaky roar noise and hid his head in his hands. "I'm going to have to live as a hermit."

John chuckled and kissed him softly. "I'm sure people will stop talking about it… eventually."

"I would like to be your boyfriend, too," Sherlock mumbled with a flush. "I do feel that I love you, I'm not sure what love feels like but it's a strange feeling. A bubbling in my stomach."

"That could just be wind, love," John laughed, watching Sherlock turn his head to the side and think.

"No, it's nothing bowel related," Sherlock added with a thoughtful nod.

"Well, that's good then," John laughed and pulled Sherlock in for a cuddle. "I love you too."

"Do I have to change?" Sherlock asked softly. "Should I start attempting to be romantic or thoughtful?"

"No," John smiled. "Just called me loveduck or snugglebug and we’ll be alright."

"Oh God, pet names again," Sherlock cried and hid his face. "This is horrendous, worse than I expected!"

* * *

The two men dozed for a while, occasionally waking up only to cuddle closer and fall asleep safely in one another’s arms as they slept the day away.

"John?" Sherlock eventually mumbled.

"Yeah?" the doctor replied sleepily.

"I’d quite like to try full sex now, if you're amenable," Sherlock purred.

The statement should not have been sexy, but the way Sherlock practically dripped seduction into John's ear had him hard and desperate in no time. John cautiously checked Sherlock's shoulder but the detective insisted he was okay and able to continue.

Taking Sherlock's word as the truth, John began kissing his boyfriend (his brain forced a shiver of arousal down his spine at the thought) and laying him down softly onto the bed before moving between his legs.

"Oh erm…" John trailed off. "Do you want to er… give or receive?"

"I have no idea," Sherlock shrugged. "Which would you suggest?"

"It depends what you want," John continued. "Do you want to be the penetrator or the penetratee?"

"The penetrator?" Sherlock cackled. "I might have that sewn onto a cape for crime fighting purposes."

"Shut up you git," John flushed. "I'm trying here."

Sherlock stopped laughing and wiped his eyes. "Okay, okay I'm sorry. Which would you prefer?"

"I've never done either," John mumbled, "so I don’t know."

"Fine, this time I'll receive as I'm still clean from our last session." Sherlock flushed at the thought of his cleansing ritual before their lovemaking.

John nodded and reached for the bedside table pulling out a condom and the lube; Sherlock bit his lip and stilled John's hand as it passed. "Can we… not use one?"

"A condom?" John asked.

"I thought maybe… because we’re now exclusive and we both know we’re clean…" Sherlock mumbled flushing red. "I don’t plan on sleeping with anybody else, do you?"

"No. Never," John insisted as he kissed Sherlock. "It can be messy though."

"Now you're trying to seduce me," Sherlock grinned. "I don’t mind messy."

John nodded and moved to his position between Sherlock's legs; he ensured that Sherlock was comfortably propped on a pillow as he slicked up his fingers and slowly circled around the younger man’s hole lightly. He allowed Sherlock to relax before inserting his thick finger inside.

"Mmmmm," Sherlock moaned at the stretch, as John twisted and turned his finger inside of Sherlock's body whilst his other hand stroked the half hard cock lying on Sherlock's belly.

Adding a second finger, John was lost in the sounds escaping Sherlock's throat as he scissored his digits and forced the detective to open up for him. Both men were flushed and hard as they rutted wantonly against each other in a desperate attempt to quicken the preparation, but John wouldn’t be rushed, he wanted to ensure it wouldn’t hurt his lover. Adding a third was tricky and Sherlock winced at the slight burn which accompanied the thick fingers penetrating him deeply.

"Relax, love," John soothed as he flicked his wrist at Sherlock's tip and caressed his prostate softly. "Almost there."

When John was satisfied that Sherlock was open enough he slowly removed his fingers, wiping them on the bedding before slicking his cock with lube and pushing it against the opening. Both men locked eyes and entwined their free hands together as the first inch of John slipped into the tight ring of muscle inside Sherlock.

The younger man gasped and bit his lip at the sensation; it was slightly painful but after the initial stretch the pain subsided. John groaned and closed his eyes tightly as the tight heat enveloped his cock in a vice like grip. He ran his hand up and down Sherlock's side and then down to his cock which had softened slightly with the rush of burning stretch; he stroked and coaxed it into full hardness as he realised he was fully inside his lover.

"My God," John choked. "Sherlock I…"

"You're inside me, John." Sherlock looked completely awestruck, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open as he looked at the pair joined at the groin.

John didn't dare look down; he was dangled perilously close to his orgasm and thought desperately of anything to calm himself down. Sherlock groaned and squeezed their entwined fingers. "Please move."

"If I do… I don’t think it’ll last long," John admitted, overwhelmed with the sensations of adoration for his boyfriend and best friend.

"I don’t care." Sherlock shook his head, his hair creating a dark halo around his pillow. "Please..."

John pulled out until only his tip was inside Sherlock, before thrusting forward and burying himself to the hilt in the silky wetness of Sherlock's insides. The pair gasped in tandem and Sherlock grabbed John; pulling him forward he released John's hand and pulled him down for a deep and lingering kiss as John managed to grind his hips in small circles, hitting Sherlock's prostate and causing a groan to force itself past Sherlock's lips and into John's to be swallowed and kept as a precious keepsake.

John rocked his hips back and forth, his stomach rubbing Sherlock’s prick perfectly as the two thrust against one another, sharing breaths and soft kisses as they chased their climaxes together. John let his forehead rest against Sherlock's as they made love, their eyes never leaving one another’s as their peak’s built.

"John, please, John… oh God, oh please," Sherlock babbled, his lips moving to meet John's once more before he arched his back and clamped down on John from the inside. His body stilled and his mouth opened in a silent scream as he painted their bellies in cum as John continued to thrust and fuck into Sherlock's body, knowing he couldn’t last with Sherlock fluttering wildly around him.

"Oh fuck, oh Christ," John panted, his hips becoming frenzied and less fluid as he reached the edge. "Sherlock, going to cum in you… going to… ohhhh."

Sherlock froze as he felt the unfamiliar bloom of warmth inside him and blushed at the sensation as John thrust in tiny little flicks of his hips to milk the remainder of his cum out. John stroked his fingers through Sherlock's sweaty curls and kissed every inch of Sherlock's face with dedication and pure adoration.

"I love you," John whispered over and over. "Please, never forget how much I love you."

"Nor you, John," Sherlock replied with his own tender kiss. "I just adore you."

The two managed to position themselves on their sides without unlocking their genitals, kissing and petting one another until Sherlock felt the first drips of cum escaping his loosened hole around John's softening cock.

"Eurgh," Sherlock grumbled as he moved his fingers to feel the slickness of his hole.

"You asked for it," John chuckled softly.

"Yes, I suppose I did." Sherlock smiled as he nuzzled into John's neck and lay contentedly listening to John's heartbeat.

* * *

6 Months later

**Bring milk, I used all of ours for an experiment and Mrs Hudson is refusing to let me have hers -SH**

**What did you do? -JW**

**I accidently exploded it…a bit -SH**

**How in God’s name do you explode milk? -JW**

**Come home and I'll show you *wink wink* -SH**

**Was that… was that a sex joke? -JW**

**Might be. You'll just have to wait and see, Snuggledove -SH**

**Fine, see you when I get home, Gooeybear -JW**

**Arse. Love you -SH**

**Git. Love you also -JW**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Venus 2000](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775513) by [KittieHill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill)




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